


Gift of the Valar

by inheritanceofgeek



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Actually Epileptic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Some people Live/Not everybody dies, BAMF Sigrid, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bechdel Test Pass, Disabled Character, Epilepsy, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Prophetic Visions, Seer Tilda, Tilda Centric, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritanceofgeek/pseuds/inheritanceofgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Men of Middle Earth are all gifted one prophetic vision in their infancy which shows them a key moment in their life. These take the form of Convulsions which rock through their bodies and leave them weakened.</p><p>However it is the Will of the Valar that some of them should be Gifted with the Sight until the end of their days, granting them daily visions through the form of seizures of the brain. Each race experiencing them differently. </p><p>And so it was that Tilda, youngest daughter of Bard the Bowman, came to change the fate of Arda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I learnt that in Ancient Greece Epileptics were considered Sacred because they believed that they could see the future in their Seizures. 
> 
> As someone who is Epileptic, I become fond of the idea and soon my brain was coming up with the idea of Tilda being Epileptic and seeing into the future leading to the Line of Durin being saved. 
> 
> In this, Tilda has Absence Seizures (Petit Mal) and everything related to that is based upon my own personal experiences with them.
> 
> I was one of those 1 in 20 kids who had a Complex Febrile Convulsion and came out with life-long Epilepsy. 
> 
> Shout out to the people at my local hospital without whom I would not be here to write this for you xXx
> 
> My thanks also go to MagicMarker for supporting me whilst writing this and cheering me on from the sidelines, as well as being a fantastic Beta <3

In their wisdom, the Valar decided to grant each race the Gift of Sight. The elves, oldest and wisest of Eru’s creations, learnt to control these abilities. Their visions came to them by choice, finding ways to trigger them and learning how to interpret them correctly. The rest of the Valar’s creations were not so fortunate. Their visions would often come suddenly and without warning, manifesting themselves in different ways dependent on their race.  

With the Hobbits, the visions were spells of emotions and feelings. A sudden sense of joy might fill them, or a feeling that their stomach had been left hanging in the air above them whilst they dropped a great height. Whilst some might have hallucinations depicting personal future events, for most it was only the vaguest sense that something was coming. “I’ve a good feeling about this,” one hobbit might say to another as they set off on a long journey; though whether this meant an outcome of benefit to that particular young hobbit, it was hard to tell. They were only very small people, after all, and had not the will of the elves to try and develop their sight any further.  

When creating the dwarves, Mahal had been perhaps a bit more selective. Knowing the possible consequences that a premonition could cause, he gave them to only those he felt best capable to handle them. As such, the gift was much rarer amongst their race. Those who had been granted it held a certain stigma that was hard to cope with at times. For, whilst much like the elves, they could choose when to use their gift it still held the consequence that at times a sudden violent jerking would overtake their limbs. Many an item had been lost or destroyed when a Dwarrow had experienced a more powerful vision than expected and thrown whatever they’d been holding across the room. Still, they fared better than the race of men.  

Every child would suffer from a convulsion at some point in their lives. Their temperature would rise as their body twitched and jerked about as if possessed. Whilst the details of their vision might change, as nothing was certain in this world, the concept would always stay the same. For example, if a child saw a vision of a battlefield then that child would find themselves upon a battlefield. However, who they were fighting, when the battle was taking place, and who lay fallen upon the ground was not set in stone.

For some their vision was so powerful that they sadly perished from it, as there was no treatment to stop them from occurring. Amongst those who did survive their vision, it was unlikely for them to suffer from further attacks. The vision would always stay with them and whilst its content might be difficult to deal with, it was nothing they would not be capable of handling. But for a select few the visions would continue for the rest of their days; each attack predicting a new event.

These attacks would manifest themselves differently amongst each of the race of men. For whilst there was not as much cultural difference between the other beings (starlight was just as precious to Silvan Elves as it was Sindarin) it was not so amongst men. They each had different languages, different values, different beliefs and so on. In Gondor, a vision would arrive violently, causing them to fall to the floor as their body jerked uncontrollably. In the South Downs, a person would find themselves no longer quite in control, wandering around aimlessly as thoughts of the future scattered across their mind and whispered in their ear. In Dale, people would suddenly freeze and stare off into space, as though in a daydream; whilst in Rohan, they would lose all muscle control and fall forward onto the ground. This led to special saddles being developed so as they did not fall off completely during a premonition, and horses were given special training to deal with them. For no child of Rohan born with such a gift could be barred from riding as freely as their kin.

Kendra, daughter of Éoád, was one such person. Her first vision had been so powerful she’d nearly died from it, but Eru be praised she’d pulled through. It left her with the image of a small town upon a lake from where she watched two children running around playing. A man, her husband she presumed, held her close and kissed her cheek. His hand rubbed gently across her belly, where a third child was coming into life. To some, it might seem quite mundane. It lacked the glory of battle or the wisdom of council, however it became a source of comfort to Kendra. No matter what happened, she knew that moment of peace and tranquillity was coming to her. She would have a moment of pure unadulterated happiness, which was not something easily found during those dark days.  

Kendra’s father was a blacksmith, capable of crafting the most elegant of weapons. As a girl, her and her sister would practice with them, dreaming of going into battle just as the Shield Maidens of Old. Of course, real battles were never as funny or as joyous as a child might imagine, and this would come to be something she would learn all too well.

One day on summer’s eve Kendra was coming home from a journey to a neighbouring village to deliver an order from her father. All seemed fair in the sky as the sun began to set low, but then she heard a distant howl of a warg. They did not usually venture this far from the mountains, and she instinctively drew her sword and spurred Byre, her horse, on faster so as to warn her people. Suddenly, a vision came upon her and she collapsed forward.  

 _Rangers. Ten or Twelve. Caught unawares. Not far from here. Attack. Blood. Fur. Help_.  

Byre had stopped still as she had been trained to do during an attack and it took a moment for Kendra to come around. She always felt so disoriented after a vision, and it took her a minute to realise that yes _now_ , this was happening _now_. With a panicked breath, she kicked Byre into a gallop and raced off to where she knew the Rangers to be.  

They’d been shocked to see her, no doubt about that. Their camps were meant to remain hidden so how on earth had a simple village girl been able to find them? They knew that a single woman alone at dusk was only a threat to herself, but it still begged the question as to why she was here at all.  

“There’s a warg pack on the way.” She explained jumping down from Byre and grabbing her weaponry. “I heard them not far from here. They’re going to attack.”

“And how can you know that?” Asked their leader.  

“Saw it in a vision I had a moment ago.”  

A few of the men took a step away from her, clearly from villages where sight was seen as a curse and not a gift. She rolled her eyes at them and continued to address their leader:

“My visions have never been wrong. Trust me on this one Captain. They will attack any moment, and you and your men need to be ready.”  

“I think we should trust her, Captain,” said one of younger Rangers, about Kendra’s age with long brown hair and something Daleish about his accent.

“My great aunt had the sight. I know first hand how powerful it can be. What harm can it do to prepare ourselves?”

The captain looked between the pair of them. His mouth made a thin line and he gave orders to the men to move further on to a place that offered them a better defencive position. They’d not begun to move far when shouts arose amongst the men and the snarling and clambering of the beasts could be heard by all.

“There must have been a second pack.” Hissed Kendra, drawing her sword. The Ranger from earlier began to pull her behind him for her protection, but she’d snapped out of his grasp. “I am a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, I do not need your protection, Ranger.”

The man blinked at her momentarily, before a smile spread across his mouth.

“Forgive me, Soldier. I was not thinking. It’ll be an honour to do battle by your side.”  

“You’ve got that right,” she smirked, readying her shield. He picked up a bow and arrow from their stash of weapons and began firing. Kendra's eyes were not as keen as his, but soon she could hear the pained cries of the wargs as more bowmen fired into the forest. Still the wargs came though, bursting out of the trees with arrows sticking into their thick hide, their snarling red eyed faces angrier than ever. A ranger at the front paused in his attack, appearing minuscule before the beast.

It did not show mercy.

The boy’s blood was still dripping from its muzzle as its eyes sought out its next victim. With a warrior’s scream, Kendra raced towards the beasts to join the rangers in their fight.  

Fighting a real warg was not like it was in practice. She’d dreamt of battle, but she was realising that it contained more death than glory. She used her shield to push back the creature’s paw as it tried to slam her to the side, using the momentum to slice her sword up into its chest. The beast fell with a loud _thud_ , causing her to leap back in order to prevent it from trapping her. Using the momentum from her jump, she spun around to see how the others were doing. Daleish was struggling against a beast of his own, unaware that a greater one was stalking up towards him, batting aside anyone who stood in its way as though they were nothing but branches blocking a path.  

She ran towards him, shouting out a warning of the beast, but he could not do anything whilst he still battled the smaller one. His skill clearly lay far more in archery than in hand to hand combat, his footwork all over the place and his hits misplaced for this style of fight. She knew she had to draw its attention away from him somehow, and so she grabbed for one of the knives she kept on her hip and threw it as hard as she could. The blade glanced across the side of its face, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to get its attention. With a snarl, it turned away from its target and came towards her. She met it halfway, determined to greet her destiny head on.  

With her shield she tried to push the creature and stab up into its chest as she’d been taught, but this warg seemed to be an experienced killer. It's face was covered in scars and the blood of its latest victim was still wet upon its jaws. Kendra twisted left and right, dodging the fearsome claws as they tried to slice her down whilst she gripped tightly onto her shield, knowing that a strong defence was better than any attack, blocking it's muzzle whenever it tried to bite at her; however the warg soon grew wise to her moves, and with a snarl, used its full force to knock away her shield. She stumbled backwards off guard, and the creature took its opportunity to pounce. She felt all the air leave her as she instinctively gripped tighter onto her sword, determined that this would not be her time to go. She had that small town on the lake still to come.

With a yell Kendra thrust her sword up into the newly exposed belly of the warg, blood pouring out of it as she withdrew her sword. It gave out a strangled cry as it collapsed on top of her, twitching but dead none the less. She panted as she tried to push the creature off of her, unable to shove any of its weight. The cries of the fight were dimming down now, and she could hear the wargs retreating back into the woods.  

“Are you doing alright there?” Asked the Daleish Ranger, bending down to look at her from above. He had a nasty looking gash across his arm from the warg he’d been fighting had landed a final blow before dying; but his boyish grin and twinkling eyes told her that he was fine.

“Oh I’m having the time of my life. Nothing I like more than being crushed by a warg.”  

“Well I’ll leave you to it then.” He shrugged and began to walk away.  

“Oi! No, come back here! Give me a hand, you can’t leave me like this! I’m the one who saved your life!”  

The man chuckled and turned back around, “Fair point I guess.” He waved over at a couple of other Rangers and together they shifted the warg off of her. She clambered to her feet, feeling slightly shaken but still full of adrenaline.  

“I’m Bard, by the way, son of Brand.” He grinned at her boyishly, his eyes taking in every aspect of her face. Kendra felt her heart begin to pound harder once more. She brushed down her clothes and straightened her bun, trying to look as presentable as she could under the circumstances.  

“Kendra daughter of--”  

 _Skin. Heat. Passion. Moans. Pleasure._  

She opened her eyes and saw the concerned face and kind eyes of Bard looking down at her. It took her a moment to gather what was going on as she tried to piece together the moments before and after her vision. She sat up groggily examining her surroundings. It looked as though Bard had caught her and placed her on the floor, taking his jacket off despite the chill so as she could have a pillow. She still felt a tingle rushing through her as the images from her vision came back into her mind again. Oh he’d be taking more than that off, if she had any say about it.  

“How are you feeling?” He asked, helping her to her feet.

“Kendra, daughter of Éoád was what I was saying earlier.” She smiled, and stepped closer towards him, batting away his concerns. “And you, Bard, son of Brand still owe me a thank you,” she whispered into his ear.  

“And what sort of thank you did you have in mind?” He grinned wolfishly.  

“We’ll start with a kiss and go from there, I think.” She smirked and pulled him down towards her. There were a few wolf whistles from the surviving Rangers, but nothing more for they already knew better than to invoke the wrath of a Shieldmaiden. Seer or not.  

And so it was, a year later, that Kendra and Bard moved back to his home upon the lake. They’d only been married a month, but already her belly was round with new life. Which, after all, was one of the main reasons they’d been married in the first place. Bard had resisted returning to the long lake, but there was a job waiting for him as a bargemen, away from the life of a ranger. For though Lake Town sat underneath the gaze of a dragon, they rarely had to deal with anything more dangerous than winter.  

“Are you sure about this?” Asked Bard as they sat looking out upon the cold dismal lake. “Rohan is a much nicer place to live…”  

“Once you factor out the wargs and the orcs yes.” She laughed. She could already see the elements of her vision coming together around the town. “No. This is great.

Just what I’ve been dreaming of.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Yes. This was where her happiness lay, and she would give up all the Mark had to offer in order to find it.

The people of Laketown turned out to be far more superstitious than those in Rohan. They avoided her in the street, and only spoke briefly to her, if at all. Of course that wasn’t to say everyone was like that, Bard’s old friends had always treated her as one of their own, but she wondered what would become of her children if they developed the Gift in such a small and backwards town. Where the purse strings were controlled tightly by a master who cared little for his people. There was a certain sense of pride Kendra felt whenever she got a vision of him falling down the stairs or coughing up a lung over breakfast. It was disgusting to look at, but great to see him suffering. None of this mattered though, for so long as they had each other then nothing could go wrong.

Their first child was a girl whom they named Sigrid after Bard’s grandmother. She was almost a mirror image to Kendra, but had the same cheeky and caring nature of her father; doing her utmost to be the Best Big Sister in All of Arda to her beloved little brother. Bain was seven years her junior, but was always trying to prove himself to them all, challenging everybody and anybody to dangerous dares and duels with wooden swords. Bard often commented that he had Kendra’s fighting spirit and skill with a sword, which was only proved right when Bain declared his desire to become a Shieldmaiden just like his mother.

It did not surprise Kendra that her first two children both had powerful and vivid visions. With her own Sight coupled with that which ran in Bard’s family, it would be a small wonder if their convulsions were weak. Sigrid had suffered hers whilst in the market, falling and breaking her arm in the process causing such a commotion as the whole town gathered around her. Bain’s had been less of a spectacle, though in many ways it had been much much worse. It had lasted so long and had taken him over a week to recover. Kendra and Bard had stayed up night after night praying to the gods that he would survive; for whilst Kendra had seen two children in her vision, that did not mean they were her children. Even her premonitions of when they were fully grown were not a comfort to her, for she knew too well how visions could be altered and changed. The future could never be set in stone.  

Thankfully though, both Sigrid and Bain had pulled through and suffered no long-term side effects. Much to Kendra’s relief neither of them developed the Sight in its entirety, going back to being happy and healthy children without the constant worries of the future. However their visions were powerful for a reason, though none of them could even begin to imagine the impact they would have on the whole of Arda. Whenever Bain woke up in a cold sweat having had nightmares about what he’d seen Kendra sat with him as he cried into her nightdress as she explained that though his vision had been terrifying, it was still a gift. For what harm could a dragon do to you if you’ve seen it all before? Equally, whilst Sigrid might not yet understand that the celebrations throughout Dale were down to her choice to marry for love, there would come a day when it would aid her in her hardest choice yet.

The four of them lived a happy life on the lake for many years, just as Kendra had predicted in her Vision. A few months after Kendra and Bard’s thirteenth anniversary, Kendra discovered that she was pregnant again and she felt as though she was the luckiest woman in all of Arda. Everything from her first vision was falling into place until it finally arrived, the day when everything was perfect. Her children were playing outside in the sunshine whilst her beloved husband stood over her shoulder rubbing at her belly as they felt the baby kick for the first time. The feeling of peace was better than she’d ever imagined and she wished that all people could get a chance to feel as blissful as she did.  

That was when her vision came.  

 _A girl. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A princess. A seer. Happy. Motherless. Hers._  

“Kendra,” said Bard, kneeling down next to her on the chair. “Kendra how are you? How’s the baby? I’ll get you a glass of water, do you need--”

She felt tears well up in her eyes. Of course it couldn't have been that simple. You didn’t get moments of pure bliss without a downfall at the end.  

“Kendra, talk to me, the baby, are they going to be fine? Do I need to fetch a healer?”  

“No. No my darling we’re both fine. There’s no need to worry.”  

“Then why are you crying?” There was a hurt look on his face and Kendra didn’t know what to do. She would not lie to him, but she could not tell him the whole truth for fear that it would break him.

“I’m crying because I’ve seen the future our daughter has. She’s going to do so many amazing things, Bard. She’s going to be incredible. We’re so lucky.”  

“A girl,” said Bard, grinning up at her. “You’re all going to be ganging up on me! Three against two, that’s not fair now is it?” He chuckled, stroking the curve of her belly.

“Oh no, two against two. I’ll always be the neutral.” She smiled sadly as she cupped her husband's cheek and brought him up for a kiss. “I do love you, my Ranger of the North.”  

“And I love you, my Wild Shieldmaiden.”  

Their baby was due in four months, and she planned on spending as much of that time with her family as possible. Letting them all know how much they all meant to her, and how much she’d miss them when she was gone. After all, visions were meant to prepare you for what was to come. She needed them all to be ready.


	2. Her Mother's Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will hopefully be updating every Monday =)

Tilda had no real memory of her mother, short of a dreamlike feeling of being held by her for a brief moment before her life drained away completely. Still, her family had made certain that Tilda would always have a sense of her. Her father would tell her bedtime stories of her ma’s adventures growing up in Rohan; her brother would only talk to her in Rohirric so she would learn her language; and Sigrid sung the same lullabies as her mother had, stroking her sister’s hair as she dropped off to sleep.

Tilda could tell that everyone felt sad when they did these things, but she felt as though she should try her best to enjoy them. After all, these hand-me-down memories were all she had to go by. She wished she had something more solid though; something that could tie them together and keep something of her ma for her own. Bain had her nose and chin, Sigrid her hair and eyes—but Tilda seemed to carry nothing from her. Or so they’d thought right up until her first convulsion.  

Her father had stayed by her side the entire time. His face brimming with tears as he held her tiny hand in his, waiting for it to end and praying that she would recover. He could not bear to loose her so soon after Kendra. He’d promised to keep Tilda safe and happy, and whilst he would sacrifice his life to protect her from marauding hoards of orcs or giant murderous trolls-- what could he possibly do to protect her from her own brain? From the cruel will of the Valar?  

Most children only had the one convulsion, but Tilda seemed to have so many. Each more powerful than the last. She always told the same story though; of a peaceful day in a garden with her family. Sigrid had a belly as round as a ball and was smiling broadly as Bain chased after someone she did not recognise, but whom she knew to be very important to them all. There was bright sunshine and bird song. Everyone was happy and at peace.

The details were always changing. Sometimes the robes Bain wore were deepest red, other times forest green. Sometimes the stranger was female, sometimes male. The birds on the walls might be Ravens or Thrushes or Squirrels even; all creatures Tilda had never seen but could describe perfectly. Bard hoped that this peaceful memory was something that would secure a future for his daughter, but with each convulsion he grew more and more concerned that it really was all just a dream.  

However, by the time she was four, her convulsions had stopped. It was well known throughout the town that she had suffered from them more than any child ever had. Even ones with the sight never had so many as she, so it came as no surprise that so many of the small-minded townsfolk gave her a wide berth.  

“Touched in the head, that one is,” muttered Alfrid as their family walked past on way to the market.

“Not to be trusted, that’s for sure,” agreed Braga, one of the new guards to the master. “Her mother had the sight and still died giving birth to her. Probably the girl what killed her deliberately.”  

On hearing this Bard spun round to attack Braga but Sigrid had gotten there first and she pushed him straight into the freezing cold lake. There were cries of outrage and laughter from amongst the crowd as Braga spluttered and coughed, scrambling to pull himself out.

“Talk like that about my sister again, and I’ll drown you myself.” She snapped. Sigrid was barely seventeen years old and already running a household, she did not have the patience for those who would insult her family.

Bard did his best not to laugh, but failed quite miserably. There was so much of the Shield Maiden in his daughter, and he prayed that it would always remain. Her eyes were already old before their time, he could not bear to see her spirit drain away as well as her youth.

“Come on Love, ignore the fool. Let’s go.”  

“I’ll have you arrested for this!” Cried Braga, his teeth chattering  

“For what?” Asked Bard lightly.  

“Assault of a Guardsman!”  

“I didn’t see any assault, Braga. Just a demonstration of the light hearted spirit of youth,”  he shrugged. “Or do you want everyone to know a teenage girl managed to get the better of you: a Guardsman to the master?”  

Braga hesitated, grinding his jaw. “You get off this time, blondey. Don’t do it again.” He pointed at Sigrid who gave a small curtsy.

“Come on, best be moving now Tilda,” said Bard, reaching for his daughter’s hand. She had a dazed look about her, her eyes dropped downwards, as though she were daydreaming. “Come on Tilly, let’s get going.”  

Suddenly, she began to scream, shrill panicked cries that could be heard all across the town.  

“Spiders Da! Spiders everywhere! Spiders we need to run from the spiders!” She gripped a hold of his hand and began to sprint back to the house. Her breathing was heavy, tears filling her eyes.  

“Tilda, Tilda, Tilda.” Huffed Bard, stopping to scoop her up into her arms. “Cariad, it’s okay. There’s no spiders here. Nothing’s coming for us.”  

“We’re, we’re not in the woods?” She asked, looking about her, confusion and panic written across her face. “We were in the woods. It was dark and, and there were these spiders and they, they wanted to eat the dwarves.” She shook in his arms, clinging onto his jacket as though anchoring herself to him.

“Well I promise you that there are no dwarves  _ or _ spiders here. Just Alfrid. So I think we’re alright.” Tilda wiped her nose on the back of her hand, giggling slightly and looking a lot happier now that she knew they were safe. He gently set her on the floor and crouched down so they were on the same level.

“What do you remember happening before you saw the spiders?”  

Tilda frowned. She knew that they had been doing something. They’d been going to the market to buy bread and if she was good she was going to get some of the sweets that Jeyama sold. Then a man had said something and Sigrid had…. The memories were all there, but it was like drawing them up from a deep well. It took time and energy to remember anything that happened. She told as much to her father and he looked at her with a broken heart.

“Well, it looks like you did inherit something from Ma after all. She’d be proud of how brave you are, Tilda. Saving me from the spiders.”  

“But you said that there weren’t any spiders?”  

“There aren’t, but there might be some day. I’ll explain after dinner.” He stroked her hair. If only her mother were alive; then she could explain all this to her. But it would seem the Valar had other things in store for their small family. 

Damn them all.  

In total, Tilda took the news that she could see into the future very well. Despite what everyone was saying, it was kind of rather brilliant. She could see into lands they could never even know of! Sometimes she saw elves looking at the stars and whispering secrets to the moon. Sometimes she saw funny little men with woolly toes talking about magic rings. She saw dwarves from the mountains, eagles which soared in the skies, and wizards of every colour! On rough days where her visions were powerful and frightening, she thought she could hear a voice calling to her in a mysterious, musical language almost like Daleish but with far more magic behind it. She liked to think it was the voice of her Ma, calling across from the eternal planes to the daughter she’d never know otherwise.

But not everything she saw was as comforting. There were orcs and goblins and dark people doing dark deeds. There were battles and wars, death and sickness but worse of all, was the dragon fire which haunted her every day. Great flames devouring the whole town, cascading down from above like a waterfall as a great shadow swooped down on them. She’d told her da all about it, but he just looked so stricken. There was no way of telling when this would happen. It could be five days from now, or five decades. He knew of some Seerers who could see into a time when they themselves were dead.  

Tilda soon learnt that telling her father about these things always made him unhappy—even when they were the jollier things (like that time she'd seen all those dwarves singing a song about doing the washing up). Sigrid too began to grow concerned whenever Tilda spoke to her about them; so she soon learned to keep quiet. Whilst she could not control where or when she’d have a vision, she could control her reaction. She learnt not to scream at the face of every Orc or run away from the Spiders in the forest. She got better at remembering what happened before her visions, and soon only those who knew her very well could tell the difference between a vision and a daydream.  

Of course, everyone knew she had the Sight. It was hard to keep these things quiet in such a small town—especially when she’d been spotted screaming at monsters that weren’t yet there. It led to a lonely life. The other children didn’t want to play with her, shouting about how she was a curse upon their town. Bain would beat up anybody who spoke against her, which had lead to her father being called before the Master on several occasions. Sigrid had already lost most of her friends when she’d taken on the role of mother, but she had even fewer now that her youngest charge was ‘Gifted’. It might have driven a lesser family apart, but the heirs of Girion were stronger than that. Nothing as small as hearsay would break them. 


	3. The Luck of the Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happening every Monday so long as my Internet Co-Operates.

 

For about a year Tilda found herself having visions of the same group of people over and over again. Well, group of dwarves to be precise. There was a grumpy one with long black hair and a sharp nose whom everyone seemed to respect a lot, even if his beard was much much shorter than the others. She got glimpses of him travelling around trying to find his father, or else meeting up with other dwarves for an adventure. There was a pair of young dwarves about Sigrid’s age, one with beautiful blonde hair and one with dark brown. She saw them interacting with Grumpy Dwarf and came to the conclusion that they must be related. She much preferred seeing the Young Dwarves; they were always getting up to mischief! But by far, her favourite dwarf was one with a giant moustache that curled at the side and a funny hat he never seemed to be parted from. He made the most amazing toys and she kept hoping that one day she’d get to meet him and have one of them for herself!

Sometimes she saw bad things happening to them. Fires and wargs and goblins and elven dungeons, but they always seemed to get out of it just fine without any real harm done. For some reason she kept seeing images of them riding goats up a snowy mountain, though the vision always cut short before they got to the top. In her opinion, it seemed a lot more fun riding goats than it did riding horses. Not that she’d ever voice that out loud. Da might find it funny, but if ever her family in Rohan found out she’d be in big trouble for sure. She might not get any presents from them ever again!

Just before the dawn of winter, she had one final vision of the dwarves. They were stuffed in barrels that her father was filling with fish, before being snuck into their house through the toilet. There was a big one with tattoos all over his head who tried to swat at Bain; he’d have been scary if it weren’t for how soaked with toilet water he was, but Tilda got the impression that he was really a very kind and loyal dwarf underneath it all. The passing of the vision left Tilda with a feeling of such great hope and happiness. Their arrival was a good thing, even if her da didn’t seem all that happy about it in her vision. She knew that in the end the return of the dwarves to Erebor would be good news for all.

After that the rest of her visions returned to normal. Hobbits camping in the wild. Images of the rebuilt city of Dale, of dragon fire destroying the town, of a white tree coming into blossom, of a great wave that went up and up but never came down. She didn’t like that one very much, it was a little dull, she  _ much _ preferred the ones of the blonde Rohirian girl fighting all the orcs. She was starting to develop a bit of a crush on her, and though she knew she’d probably never meet her, she liked to imagine a future where they ended up fighting side by side like the warrior princesses in Sigrid’s stories.

Still, winter came and with it the ice and chill that meant food was harder to come by. So when her father came home late one day looking flustered and a bunch of dwarves began to pile into their kitchen she knew their luck was about to change. She caught a sight of the dwarf with the funny hat and felt her insides fill with glee. Yes,  _ these _ dwarves could only mean good things.

Sigrid had always been a good host to anyone who’d ever come into their home, sharing what little food they had, or giving a coin to those in need. As such, she sent Tilda around to pass out blankets, dry clothes and steaming cups of hot tea. Tilda was excited to meet the dwarves but still a little wary of them. To her delight, her favourite dwarf in the Silly Hat, whose actual name was Bofur, had been just as kind as she’d hoped for! He’d found some wood and began to whittle her a small toy goat, just like the ones she’d seen in her vision. Sigrid also seemed to be getting on well with the dwarves, especially the young blonde whose brother she was helping patch up.

After that though things started to get a bit weird for Tilda. She usually had about three or four visions a day as normal. However, since the dwarves’ arrival they were coming in thick and fast. It felt as though someone was rubbing and squeezing at her brain and her eyes felt like lead balls weighing her down her skull. it was getting difficult to understand what was and wasn’t actually happening around her. She saw the young injured dwarf  falling down the stairs after carrying a pile of swords he wasn’t strong enough to hold.  She saw the angry dwarf with tears in his eyes as he spoke to the grumpy dwarf wearing a crown. She saw the Hobbit climbing down the side of the mountain with a glimmering white gem tucked in his pocket.

“Are you okay?” he asked frowning. “You seem a little distant.”

“Oh, um, sorry,” she said biting her lip and looking at him thoughtfully. “Can I tell you a secret?” The hobbit nodded and shuffled up closer to her. “I get visions and I just had one right now with you in it.”

“Visions? With me in them?” he said, slightly surprised. Tilda nodded eagerly.

“Do you want to know what I saw?”

“Hmmm, tricky things, visions,” he mused, tapping the side of his mug of tea. “I’ve read about them. They can get you into all sorts of trouble if you think of them as fact.”

“I know. Da’s always saying not to think that they’re always real or that they’re going to happen but… but sometimes they do come true! I saw you coming up out of my toilet last week!”

“Did you now?” he frowned. “Well then Miss...?”

“Tilda. Oh um, at your service.” She gave a little clumsy curtsy.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he smiled, giving his own little bow from where he sat.

“So do you want to know what I saw?”

“I don’t think I should. I wouldn’t want it to influence anything and make it happen by trying to make it not happen if you see what I mean.” Tilda didn’t but nodded politely anyway. 

“Unless…” Bilbo mused. “Unless it’s got anything to do with my cousin Lobelia trying to take Bag End from me.” His eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth became fierce. “She’s always been after it. I’d like to be one step ahead of her.”

Tilda giggled at his determined expression, his menacing grimace almost comical on the face of a hobbit. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve seen anything about people trying to take homes. I did once see two hobbits at a top of a firey mountain though!” she said eagerly and Bilbo raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Can’t imagine what they’d be doing there. Awful thought really. I’m glad I don’t have your gifts Tilda.”

“I know,” she sighed. “So is everyone.”

Tilda was starting to think the dwarves were not as nice as she’d first suspected. Or at least weren’t as trusting as she’d hoped. They’d been so rude about their ancestor, Girion, claiming that it was  _ his _ fault that the dragon claimed the mountain because he failed to hit him – which was a lie to say the least because surely  _ everyone _ knew he’d hit his mark! He was as good with a bow as her da was! Then, when her father had gone to a lot of trouble to get them weapons like he promised, giving them the secret supply he kept for themselves just in case something bad happened, they hadn’t seemed the least bit grateful! Even Bofur, her beloved toy maker, was angry at him. The one they’d called Balin seemed reasonable enough but for some reason they all wanted real weapons for reasons they refused to talk about. She was starting to suspect the dwarves weren’t going to bring them luck at all when

 

_ “Give us your answer. Will you have peace or war?” _

_ “I will have war.” _

 

Tilda let out a gasp and backed up against the wall out of sight. No, no that couldn’t be true. Her father stood side by side with the Elven King, an entire army of elves behind them, all armed for battle. There was tension in the air, stress and fear of what the dwarf would do. There was desperation in the face of her father and in the eyes of the dwarves, a fear of what their king had become. The images frightened Tilda more than anything ever had, including the whispering scuttling spiders of her earlier visions. She didn’t know what to say or what to do. She wanted to shout out, to warn her family that Thorin was going to declare war on them, that they were all at risk sooner than they might think. To not let the dwarves out of their sight and not give them any weapons at all!

But what if her warning lead to the battle? What if the dwarves were already plotting against them and were just waiting for the opportunity to attack them? She didn’t know what she was meant to do, she didn’t feel old enough to understand what was happening. She was only a child, she wasn’t like Sigrid or Bain or Da. She might have wished to be an adult, but right now all she wanted to do was cling to her father and cry into his coat. 

However the only thing she could do was to stand back and watch as it all unfolded before her eyes. Something Thorin had said had worried her father and he’d rushed out of the house telling Bain to make sure that the dwarves didn’t go anywhere as the house was being watched. However Tilda knew all too well that nothing her brother or sister could do could prevent them from leaving. She looked again at the injured dwarf Sigrid was still tending to and was hit with yet another vision  of his pale face as his trembling arms bought the swords crashing to the ground. 

There was an inevitability to the event that she could not shake. She felt as though there had to be  _ something  _ she could do to prevent it, but after that Vision she didn’t know if she even wanted to help them anymore.

“Tilda, what’s wrong?” asked Bain, frowning at her. She shook her head and he crossed his arms, doing his best to look like their father and failing somewhat.

“It’s nothing. Just, just another vision is all.”

“Oh.” He said plainly. Bain had never known how to react to her visions. He usually liked to pretend they never happened at all. He’d once shouted about how they didn’t define who his little sister was, that she  _ wasn’t _ a Seer because she was  _ more _ than just that. When she told him of the things she saw he’d freeze up and go stiff jawed, so Tilda never bothered to bring anything up with him. Which hurt her, really. Because no matter how hard Bain shouted about how her Sight didn’t define her it didn’t change the fact that it was still a massive part of her. 

    She  _ was _ a Seer. 

She had the Sight and it manifested itself through visions where she would stop still and not be aware of her actual surroundings. Sometimes she needed to have someone by her side to make sure she didn’t stop in the middle of the street, or needed people to go back over things she’d not heard. Sometimes she had nightmares about what she saw which plagued her day in and day out. Yet she had nobody to talk to about them and today was a day when she could really have done with one.

Someone who understood what she was going through, knew how she should react to everything that was going on around her, knew how to--

 

_ La gosta aeliniel, hebog indtya thalion. Poltya a theltya crannbelaith cerdh. Savgorn mellonig. Sevog I velerth nîn. _

 

The words drifted through Tilda’s brain as often they did when she allowed herself to wallow too much in her own thoughts; when the loneliness granted to her by the Gift got in the way of being able to live her life, to even want to live a life where she was so isolated from everyone. She had no idea what the mysterious words meant, but they filled her up with courage and self belief better than anything else could. She looked around, trying to take in what had happened whilst she’d been listening to the voice and spotted Sigrid standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, resolutely refusing to let the dwarves leave. They were all shouting and clamouring to get out and it would be a small miracle if they didn’t have guardsmen swarming in on them right now!

“Move Lassie or you’ll regret it.” Growled the angry dwarf she now knew to be Dwalin, but her sister stayed firm. He might be the tallest of the party, but he was still shorter than her by a good couple of inches.

“You’re not to leave. The house is under constant watch thanks to you, if you go out the front you’ll be caught before you can even go five paces, getting  _ us _ arrested as well. You need to wait until night fall.”

“Exactly.” Piped up Bain. “So that’s final.”

“We need to get out of here Sigrid.” Said the blonde dwarf, Fíli she thought his name was. “I can’t explain it but please trust us, we have to get out of here before tomorrow evening or we’ll have come all this way for nothing.”

“I thought you were here just to visit relatives in the Iron Hills.” Said her sister, crossing her arms. Though there was a fond expression on her face as she took in Fíli’s hopeful and charming expression.

“Ah well, that’s true. But there’s a bit more to it than that but as you might have guessed. I can’t explain Sigrid but, please, trust me?”

Tilda saw her sister hesitate, ignoring the complaints of her brother in favour for staring into the eyes of the dwarf before her. It was something she did a lot, a test of what a person’s true character was like. After a moment she sighed and rubbed a hand down her face

“Okay. If you want to leave we’ll show you a way out.”

“But Da said—“

“Bain, he won’t like it but if we don’t help them out here they’ll slice their way out here.” She looked Dwalin up and down and he nodded with grim understanding

“Out the toilet again then?” sighed Bilbo

“No. That way’ll be being watched. You can use the exit I use when sneaking out.” Winked Sigrid and lead them into the room she and Tilda shared. Tilda followed cautiously, and didn’t say a word as the dwarves one by one slipped out the window and along the rooftops. Kíli looked to be in bad shape as Fíli helped him through the door, pausing only to press a kiss to Sigrid’s hand before following after his brother to join the rest of them.

“Da’s not going to be happy.” Huffed Bain “Why did you let them get out Sig?”

“Because there was no way we were going to be able to keep that many angry dwarves in our house for much longer. The guards would have come and we’d have been dead. We’re better off away from them and hopefully we’ll never see them ever again.” She dusted her apron off, her hand ghosting slightly over the spot Fíli had kissed.

The siblings didn’t speak for a while after that, Sigrid tidying up after the dwarves whilst Bain just stood by the door and sulked.

“They’re going to get in trouble,” said Tilda at last as she helped Sigrid fold a blanket. “Thorin will give Kíli too many swords and he’ll fall down the stairs and get everyone caught.”

“Will he now?” said Sigrid casually, keeping her tone light just as she always did when Tilda told her of the future. “And how can you be so certain of that? Things change Tilly. The future’s not set in stone, I thought you knew that?”

“I saw it twice. It won’t change. They’ll be caught by the guards and taken before the master.”

Sigrid frowned at her, looking into her eyes. “If you knew them leaving would cause this then why did you let them go? You could have said something, could have told them to leave Kíli behind? Do you want them to get caught?”

Tilda nodded her head and Sigrid’s frown deepened. “Why?”

Tilda gave a noncommittal shrug that made Sigrid roll her eyes. “Fine, be like that then. But they’re not awful people Tilda, a little rough around the edges but they’re decent folks underneath. Surely you can see that as well? Kíli and Fíli aren’t so bad now are they?”

Tilda gave a dramatic huff. “You’re only  _ saying _ that because Fíli kissed you and you  _ like _ him.” 

A satisfied smirk spread across her face at Sigrid’s embarrassed expression as she tried to compose herself once more.

“He only kissed my hand because he’s a gentlemen and that’s what they do to be polite. And what ever happened to the dwarves in the visions you had before? You liked them well enough?”

Tilda just stared out of the window at the lake which was beginning to glow orange in the light of the setting sun. “These dwarves aren’t the same.”

 

_ What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death. _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Do not be terrified daughter of the lake, keep your heart strong. You Can and you will accomplish great deeds. Have courage my friend. You have my love.


	4. An Inescapable Prophecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Sorry this is late!
> 
> Life got in the way and my Internet was sad and yes. Sorry.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this though!
> 
> You can always check out the page link bellow for News/Updates as well as Bonus "Chapter Covers" and the like =) 
> 
> http://mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv

Bard wasn’t angry with them for letting the dwarves out the house, but he was scared by the prospect. True to Tilda’s vision, the dwarves had been brought before the master for trespassing, theft, and conspiracy to murder, as this was the only logical explanation as to why they were in the armoury. The people had clamoured for the dwarves’ immediate imprisonment without trial, but it was shocking to see how quickly the opinion of the townsfolk could change when gold was mentioned.

“Like bloody dwarves themselves.” Bard muttered darkly as he sat his children around the table to explain the truth.  “They’ve completely forgotten what happened to Dale, forgotten the wreck and ruin the fire storm brought upon it. Our once great city laid bare through the greed of the dwarves.” He took a swig of his drink, thinking carefully about what to say next. “I’ve told you about my Great Aunt Morgan, yes? The one who had the same gifts as you, Tilda.” He smiled, pulling his youngest closer to him on the bench. “Well, she was had a prophecy”

“The one about the Lord of the Silver fountain!” said Bain eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. “You told us the story but you never said we were related to her as well!” His eyes gleamed with pride and Bard smiled fondly at him. Bain was so proud of their family’s heritage in a way that he never was, however he saw in Sigrid’s eyes a worry that would not cease.

“Exactly that prophecy yes.  _ The Lord of Silver Fountains, the King of Carven Stone, the King Beneath the Mountain, shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness, at the Mountain King’s return, _ ”

“ _ But all shall fail in sadness, and the Lake will shine and burn. _ ” Finished Sigrid, looking out the window. “Oh what have I done, Da! I just let them go, I should have done something I didn’t think, I didn’t know, I--”

“You couldn’t know, Love. How could you?” smiled Bard, reaching a hand out to her. “None of this is your fault. It’s theirs.” he glanced out the window at where the bright lights and party music could be heard as the dwarves were welcomed back into Esgaroth.

Tilda sat and thought over everything she’d seen in the past year. The orcs and spiders that had haunted her dreams, the happiness she’d felt on seeing the the dwarves go about their daily life. The brothers antics, Bofur’s songs, Bombur’s children, Thorin’s desperate search for his parents that Tilda couldn’t  _ help _ but relate to when it came to her mother. But the dwarves who were celebrating with the Master, the dwarves she’d seen calling for her father’s blood from battlements…. They weren’t the same dwarves as had lived in the Blue Mountains.

Had their journey changed them so much? Or was it simply just being this close to the mountain? The prophecy had been from  _ her own ancestor _ . Was that why she was the only one seeing these things? 

Tilda found it difficult to sleep that night, the feeling of isolation and loneliness greater than ever, despite the solid presence of her sister wrapped around her. She considered telling her family about everything she’d seen in case it could act as a warning for them. In case it could stop whatever was coming! But she was learning the hard way that there were some things her marvellous da simply could not fix. It seemed as if some paths were destined to be taken, and no amount of will could change that. Her gifts were as useless as they had always been, and she felt the curse of them more than ever at the certainty of what was to come. 

When sleep did finally claim her, it was filled with dragon fire and dwarven rage. The musical voice offering her aid was drowned out beneath the crack and snap of a city on fire.

When Tilda woke up the next day the bed was empty, Sigrid having already gotten up to make them all breakfast in the same way she always did. The smell of bacon filled the kitchen and Tilda wondered how on all of Arda her sister could just carry on like nothing was going to happen. As though their whole lives were not about to change!

“What about your vision,” Tilda whispered to Bain as she helped him do the washing up. “You saw dragon fire as well, Sigrid said you did, so why aren’t you scared too?”

“ _ Are _ you scared Tilly?” he asked. It wasn’t an accusation.

Tilda gulped and nodded, clinging tightly to the dish she was meant to be drying up. Her brother pursed his lip and looked out the window, his gaze drifting to the bell tower.

“The problem is that there’s nothing I can do.” He intoned. “And there’s nothing you can do either Tilda, even if your visions are more… powerful, than mine was.”

“So we just sit back and let it all happen! Even if we think that, that maybe we can stop it?”

“Can we stop it?”

“We could try, couldn’t we?”

“I’ll leave it to you then, Tilly.” He smiled, ruffling her hair. 

 

Suddenly there was a knock at the door that took them all by surprise. Bain pulled Tilda behind him automatically as Sigrid crept out to investigate. Bard carefully opened the door before scowling and trying to slam it shut again 

 

“No. I’m done with dwarves. Go away.”

“No, no, no! No one will help us, Kíli’s sick. He’s very sick.” Came the distinctive voice of Bofur, worry written into every syllable and  _ there _ was the dwarf Tilda knew. The one who’d stayed up all night playing with his niece after she’d had a nightmare. The one who was always willing to lend a hand to a stranger or start a friendly conversation with anyone who stood still long enough.

Sensing her father’s hesitation, Tilda stepped out behind her brother to grasp at her father’s hand “We should help them Da. I want to help them…”

“Of course we’re helping them,” snapped Sigrid, storming ahead and pushing her father aside to offer Fíli a hand in getting Kíli into the house; finding a chair for him whilst she ordered Bain to clear the table.

“You’re all wonderful, thanks a million,” sighed Bofur, rushing to his prince’s side and helping heave him onto the table.

“Where’s Thorin?” asked Bain, frowning at the four of them. “I thought he was meant to be your uncle? Why isn’t he here to look after you?”

No response came from them as they tried to hush Kíli who was crying out in more pain than ever before. Óin was bustling about checking his pulse and temperature.

“Can’t you do something?” begged Fíli, holding onto his brother’s hand as though that simple act could bring him back from the brink.

“We can try.” Said Sigrid firmly, issuing orders to everyone “Da, get the medicine bag from upstairs. Bain, get some water on the boil. Tilda, fetch clean linen from the cupboard; we need to change this dressing.” She tutted examining it. The bandage had only been changed that morning but already it was coloured black with poisoned blood.

Bard looked through the medicine bag, looking stressed and breathless. “We have nightshade, fever fuel?”

“They’re no use to me. Do you have any Kingsfoil?” asked Óin, stripping the fabric from Kíli’s leg to get a better look at it.

“No, it’s a weed. We feed it to the pigs.” replied Bard, turning round to stare at the assembled dwarves with a look of hopelessness. He might not like the fact that they were here, but Bard could never turn away someone in need like that. Especially someone as young as Kíli, who couldn’t have been much older than Sigrid...

Tilda looked at Fíli and wondered what it would be like to be in his shoes, to see Sigrid or Bain dying on the table and having to rely on the kindness of strangers. Now she thought of it, maybe that’s why her big sister was so quick to help them. How many times had Sigrid sat by their side when they were sick? How many times had it been her own sister pounding on doors begging for medicine?

“Pigs? Weed. Right.” Said Bofur, steeling himself. “Don’t Move.” He pointed at Kíli and dashed out the door, a dwarf on a mission.

“What good’s Kingsfoil?” asked Bard. “It’s just a weed I don’t see how--”

“It’s got more magical properties than you can imagine. It’s the only thing that’ll draw out a poisoned wound like this one. Very hard to find in the south. I remember when even the poorest of men could make a pretty penny selling Kingsfoil to the elves.” Explained Óin, searching through his own medicine pouch to see what was there.

Suddenly a rumble of thunder shook through the house and dust fell down from the ceiling, the very lake itself rippling with the impact of the noise from the mountain. 

It seemed that Smaug was still very much alive.

“You should leave us,” said Fíli, moving from Kíli’s side for the first time since he’d arrived. “Take your family; get out here.” He glanced at where Sigrid had rushed over to hold Tilda as close as she could, as though simply that would protect her.

“And go where? There is nowhere to go.” Bard replied, hopelessly.

“The dragon, it’s going to kill us.” said Tilda, her heart racing and tears resolutely refusing to fall from her eyes as she tried to remain brave. “I thought we’d be alright, the visions but, but it’s a dragon. We’re going to die... I don’t want to die Da, I don’t want to--”

Sigrid pulled her even tighter against her, frantically stroking her hair. “We’re not going to die, Tilda, I promise you we’re not going to die, I won’t  _ let _ you.” She kissed the top of her head and Tilda could feel her frantic heartbeat as Sigrid tried to mask her own fear.

Their father hesitated for a moment, looking out the window as he toyed with his thoughts. “It can’t kill you if I kill it first,” he said at last, and reached up to pull down the drying rack Sigrid used for tea towels and dishcloths. Only it wasn’t a drying rack after all...

“The black arrow,” Bain breathed, taking a step closer. “Girion’s last arrow, you kept it all this time!”

“Your grandma always thought it might come in handy one day.” He ran a hand reverently along the arrow’s shaft, and in his eyes Tilda could see the memory of his own vision, the one he’d told her had filled him with equal amounts of hope and dread; of the black arrow and the oncoming storm. 

“The windlance, does it still work?” asked Fíli eagerly. “Where’s the nearest route? If we hurry I might be able to get there before--”

“You?” Bard said in a tone of surprise. “Do you know how to work a windlance?”

“Do you?” countered Fíli. “I’m not letting you kill yourself over something that’s clearly  _ our _ fault!”

“Only yesterday you were blaming  _ my _ family for letting the dragon live, and now you’re saying  _ you’re _ responsible?”

“This is not the time for smart comebacks, Bard please. Give me the arrow and I’ll go. Your place is with your family.”

“It’s a windlance built for men, Master Dwarf. You could not work it even if you wanted to, but I appreciate the sentiment. Bain?” He turned around. “Come with me. I’ll need your help. We’ll be back soon. Promise.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Tilda’s head and dashing out the door with Bain scurrying after him.

Tilda watched them go, for once hoping for a vision to come to her as some sort of sign that they might come back out of this. That this would not be the last time she saw her brother and father; but nothing came. 

It seemed that for once she’d have to live with the same uncertainty as the rest of them.


	5. Saviour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates still planned for Every Monday so long as Life and my Internet is nice to me!
> 
> You can check out mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv for updates and news regarding the fic =)

Time moved at a snail’s pace as they waited for Bard and Bain to return. Kíli’s writhing and suppressed grunts of pain didn’t do much to distract from the fear of the dragon, the noises from the mountain getting louder and louder each second. The very real sense of what was coming piled on top of them and Tilda was trying her hardest to not let it show.

“Fíli,” said Sigrid brightly, “why don’t you tell us all about what it was like growing up in the Blue Mountains.”

“What?” he said, a look of confusion about him. Sigrid gave a mild noise of annoyance and tilted her head towards her sister and then nodded meaningfully at Kíli. He frowned as he glanced between their siblings before sudden realisation crossed his face.

“Ah yes! Well we call it, ‘Erid Luin’ not ‘The Blue Mountains’. That’s the Khuzdul name you see. Though don’t tell anyone I told you because Khuzdul is meant to be a secret language.” He winked at her as she nodded eagerly, promising not to tell anyone. He took a moment before he responded, stroking his beard as if in deep thought, but his amused smile and twinkling eyes showed he was just teasing her.     

“I imagine growing up there was quite different from Laketown. We lived in houses carved into the mountain rather than in wooden ones like this. We were constantly surrounded by earth and rock, it was very relaxing for a dwarf. Actually we’d never seen so much water until yesterday, had we Kí?” he asked his brother, who only gave a strangled noise in response that could have been an agreement. “We used to spend our time playing in our uncle’s forge and pretending we were going on quests to rescue princes in distress.”

“Don’t you mean Princesses?”

“Well no, Tilda, I find that Princesses don’t need rescuing. They’re very good at saving themselves, just ask our mother. _Princes_ on the other hand need all the help they can get.” He grinned grabbing his brother by the shoulder.  

Kíli let out a guttural grunt of laughter.  “I was the one saving you.”

Fíli laughed with him, and soon the four of them were slipping into an easy banter as they exchanged their memories of growing up in such different cultures. It actually turned out that Fíli and Sigrid had a lot in common, swapping stories of reckless siblings and surrogate parenthood. Though Sigrid was always keen to draw the conversation back to happier topics. Tilda was not an idiot, she could tell her Big Sister was trying to distract her from the threat of the dragon. It also had the by product of keeping Kíli active, providing him something to focus on that wasn’t the pain coursing through him.

About twenty minutes into their conversation, Bain returned alive and well. However their father was nowhere to be seen.

“Bain? What are you doing back so soon? Where’s Da?” said Sigrid, leaping to her feet and pulling him to the side for a whispered conversation. Fíli tried to distract Tilda from what her siblings were saying, but she caught the gist of what was going on anyway. Her father had been caught by the Master’s Guard; they didn’t know if he’d be coming back to them at all.

Sigrid disappeared onto the front porch and it was Bain’s turn to try and make Tilda forget about the threats around them. He was not nearly as good at it as Sigrid was, though Tilda appreciated the effort. The rumbling noises from the mountain had only grown during the time they’d been talking and the ceiling shook more and more often, pots and pans falling to the floor and Tilda wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

Then beneath the rumbling there was another noise that she could only just make out. A gentle thud, followed by a slow creaking of the rooftop, the noise creeping along the boards as something moved above them.  Everything was strangely quiet...

That was when Sigrid screamed and it was as though all Tilda’s worst visions were happening at once.

The gnarled, greyed, fanged faces of orcs were dropping down through the windows and the doors, punching holes in their roof. Their home had always been her sanctuary, a place where nothing could hurt her, not the taunts of bullies or the fears of the future. Everything in her visions happened somewhere else, that’s what Da had always said. That it was far away from her and couldn’t hurt her. The flames were outside, the spiders were outside, the battles were all _outside_ and the orcs were meant to stay away too!  

But that was a lie now as well. There was nowhere safe anymore, nothing she could do but scream and fling plates at them as her only form of defence, scrabbling away as fast as she could whilst she watched Fíli and Óin barrel straight into the creatures without any weapons to defend themselves.

She felt arms pull her down onto the floor and it was an orc, it had got her-- she was going to die; it was going to eat her, she was going to--

“Tilda, get down, Tilda it’s me please Tilda,” sobbed Sigrid, holding her tight.  “Stay with me Tilly, we’ll be alright.”

Tilda nodded as she clung onto her, Sigrid’s frantic heartbeat matching her own. There was another snarling crashing noise and the table they were hiding under was ripped away again. Sigrid still shielded Tilda with her entire body, trapping her against the ground with a vice like grip, not leaving so much as an inch visible to the marauding orcs.

Suddenly, a flash of red flew in through the open door and Tilda could hear the swish and slicing of knives, the strangled guttural sounds of orcs now coupled with the breaths of someone lighter and more agile. She poked her head out from beneath Sigrid’s arm and saw their rescuer slice up into the remaining orc.

“You killed them all…” said Bain in awe, clambering back to his feet where Fíli had him pinned down for safety. Sigrid finally let go, and Tilda was able to get a closer at who had saved them.

She looked incredible, with straight auburn hair and high cheekbones, her ears undoubtedly elven. She spun her daggers back into their sheaves and looked around at them all. The movement reminded Tilda of something she’d seen before, though she could not quite place it….

“There are others. Tauriel, come,” called a second voice and Tilda turned round to see another elf, this one with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The red-haired elf, Tauriel, looked about at them before her eyes locked on Kíli and suddenly the image came back to her. 

Yes, Tilda had seen this elf before in the forest with the spiders. The creatures had been about to attack the dwarves but then the elves had shown up and killed all the beasts before taking the dwarves away with them for questioning. Kíli would have been eaten if Tauriel hadn’t been there to save him.

“We’re losing him,” said Óin, who’d pounced on Kíli as soon as the orcs had vanished. Kíli had clearly tried to help fight off the orcs but had come off far worse for wear. Tauriel seemed trapped over what she wanted to do: go with the blonde elf or stay and look after Kíli.

“Please, stay,” Tilda begged, pulling herself out of Sigrid’s grasp.  “Stay and help him, I _know_ you can help him. Like before in the woods with the spiders. If you can then please _please_ save him!”

Tauriel looked down at her, confused.  “I am sorry child, I do not think there is anything I can do.” There was a true sadness in her voice as she sent Kíli a lingering look. She turned away and went to follow her companion, but walked straight into Bofur instead.

Tauriel looked down at him, shocked to even see him there and then seemed even more surprised at what he was carrying.

“Athelas,” she murmured, plucking it out of his hands and examining it reverently

“What are you doing?” asked Bofur, looking her up and down and then back over to where Kíli was laying on the floor in the middle of their upturned house.

“I’m going to save him.” She smiled and began issuing orders just as Sigrid had when Kíli first arrived.

“We need to get him on the table quickly. I need fresh cold water, bandages and hot water to clean my knife.”

“Your knife!” said Bofur, shocked. “You’re not going to cut his leg off are you?”

“Just do as she says, Bofur,” snapped Fíli, already pulling the table to rights and following after Sigrid to help find whatever clean fabric they could for bandages. “She can do whatever she likes so long as it saves his life.”

There was a finality to Fíli’s tone that made Bofur shut up and follow Tauriel’s orders. Firstly she dipped the knife in the boiling water for a few second before pulling it out again, instructing them to hold Kíli still. It took four of them to keep him down whilst she worked the knife into the wound, digging around for something trapped inside. Kíli’s wails of agony got louder and louder and Tilda backed up away from them, clutching onto the bowl of water she’d been instructed to hold.

“The head of the arrow is still lodged within him. It is why he’s been unable to heal properly. If the poison had not had a chance to take such a hold on him then this would have been much easier.” She gave out a grunt as she dug the blade in deeper, finally getting a hold of what was trapped there and passing it to Bofur who promptly fainted.

“Now for the Kingsfoil,” she said, taking no notice of him and turning to Tilda. She rolled the plant between her hands, closing her eyes and chanting in a mysterious musical language, allowing the clean water to soak up into the weed. She moved it swiftly onto Kíli’s leg, his screaming getting louder and more manic as she did so.

Tilda took a step back from his flailing limbs and watched Tauriel as she continued her chanting. Something about it reminded her of the voice she heard in her own dreams… There was a melody to it, something powerful and beautiful but her mother hadn’t been an elf so was it possible that—

 

_Find Fili and Kili. Call them Back._

_Thorin are you sure about this?_

_Do it. We live to fight another day._

 

“Tilda!” cried her sister. She was struggling to hold Kíli down by herself and it took Tilda a moment to realise what was happening again. There had been a snowy hilltop and Thorin and Dwalin had been there. Danger was coming but Fíli and Kíli were missing, they were in trouble, they were--

“Tilda _now_!”

Tilda came to herself again and rushed over to hold Kíli tight against the table. Slowly something seemed to overcome him and he began to relax. His movements became slower as Tauriel’s voice began to sooth him until he barely twitched at all. They carefully let go of him and took a step back, save for Fíli who still cradled his little brother’s head between his arms, gazing up at Tauriel with awed thanks.

Sigrid let out a strangled laugh as she backed away, her hands coming up to smother her smile. Her foot kicked the collapsed Bofur in the face and her eyes fell to the unused bucket of water.

She looked over at Fíli who was moving away from Kíli now as well, allowing Tauriel the space she needed to finish healing him.

“I know I shouldn’t wake him.” whispered Sigrid looking down at Bofur and then back over again at the disused bucket of water. “But I really kind of want to.”

Tilda smiled up at her sister, the first real smile she’d had these last few days.

“He did cause us a lot of problems fainting like that.” Tilda whispered back, pushing the bucket nearer her. With a smirk, Sigrid picked it up and locked eyes with Fíli who made a big dramatic show of looking away to help Óin make Kíli a healing tea.

Sigrid lifted the bucket and sloshed it straight over Bofur’s head. He sat up with a shout of “Make mine a double!” and looked around again, startled at his surroundings. “What in Durin’s name was that!” he asked, looking up at the sisters with confused hurt.

“Laketown Medicine,” grinned Sigrid, putting the bucket back on the ground and wrapping an arm around her sister.

For a moment it seemed as if everything would be fine. Kíli was doing better, talking poetically to Tauriel about how much he loved her, his declarations making Sigrid blush in a way Tilda had not seen before. They all gathered in the kitchen to drink tea and laugh about everything that had happened, thanking the Valar that they had all come together like this; Elves, Men and Dwarves all working in unison to save the life of a friend.

Tilda thought back to the Vision she’d had whilst Kíli was on the table, the one of Thorin and Dwalin on the mountain top looking for Fíli and Kíli. There was fear and tension in the moment, a danger that was coming and if she closed her eyes and thought back on it, she could just make out a few extra details…

 A goat in the distance perhaps? A view of Dale behind them and Erebor to the east and… Raven Hill? Yes that was where it had to be, Raven Hill!

Feeling brave, she walked up to Fíli and asked to speak to him in private. He looked confused but let her lead him away from the rest none the less.

 “I’ve got something to tell you and you have to believe me. Promise?”

“Promise.” he smiled brightly and Tilda gulped as she twisted her skirt in her hands again, a nervous habit she’d never been able to break. Could this actually work?

“I, I had a vision. Of Thorin and Dwalin on top of Raven Hill.”

 “What sort of vision?”

“A, a vision of the future, but please don’t me mad at me!” She added hastily.

“Why would I be mad at you?” he frowned, reaching out a hand to her and bending his head to look her in the eye. “Do people usually get mad at you for having visions?”

“My family don’t usually but some people—but that’s not important! I need to warn you and, you need to be careful alright? At some point you’ll be on Raven Hill and, and something bad is going to happen to you.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t _know_ !” said Tilda, wringing her hands together. “But something really terrible and, and you need to be extra careful, yes? Be extra safe, _promise_ me you’ll keep yourself safe if you have to go up to Raven Hill?”

“I swear it.” He said distantly, seeming lost in thought.

“You believe me right? You have to believe me you--”

“You have my word.” He smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her arm “I’ll be careful.”

Then a shadow fell across the town as the sounds of screaming erupted in the streets, and the lake began to shine.

 


	6. The Fire Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting slightly earlier than normal because I've got a class that runs till late tonight and I usually just want to fall asleep straight after. 
> 
> But yeah, Happy Monday =)
> 
> Remember you can check: mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv for updates and information regarding the fic

Sigrid had charged into action; gathering coats and scarves ready for everyone, shoving what supplies she could into coat pockets.

“We have no time, we must leave now,” hissed Tauriel, hurrying them all along.

“We’re not leaving, not without our father,” said Bain, standing firm.

“If we don’t leave your sisters will die, is that what your father would want?”

Bain hesitated, looking at his sisters before nodding in silent agreement and grabbing his own coat. The city bell had begun to ring and the sound of it visibly paled Bain, a distant look in his eyes as though he was seeing something that was not there.

“Bain?” Tilda asked, coming up to hold his hand. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, of course Tilda, we’re going now. I’ll look after you. Look after you both,” he said, locking eyes with Sigrid who smiled sweetly at her little brother.

“Quickly now,  _ hurry _ !” said Tauriel sweeping them out the door and down towards the waiting boat that would be their salvation if they could get out in time. They piled on one by one, Fíli offering Sigrid his hand to help her in. He and Bain picked up paddles and started to carefully steer them out to the main canal that lead away from the town and towards shore. 

The noise around them was unlike anything Tilda had experienced. Seeing these things happen in her visions had felt so different. In visions, everything always swam about with a sense of uncertainty. She was apart from the events, like someone watching from the outskirts, a safe distance from the main action. But here she was right in the centre of it. The cold air contrasted with the risings heat from the flames that rolled out across the town, devouring everything they came into contact with. 

The screams of their neighbours mixed with the crackle and snap of houses falling apart, houses she’d always assumed would be there for the rest of her life. The market house, the bakers, the café... she gave a start as they passed by Hilda Bianca’s house which had become entirely engulfed in flames. And always, always present throughout was the grumbling, roaring growls of the dragon that reverberated across the city.

Sigrid held her close as they passed by the burning husk of their neighbourhood, whispering reassurances she couldn’t guarantee. They were approaching the busier parts of town now and Tilda looked around in complete horror at the sheer number of people screaming and crying as the flames licked and scratched at their flesh. The shadow of the dragon swooped low above them, spewing fire left and right with no sense of order to it, just pure chaos as it blasted apart their home just for the sheer fun of it.

More and more boats were gathering in the lake, filled with people Tilda recognised as they desperately tried to pack as many in as possible. Suddenly the master’s vessel slammed into them and they all rocked to the side, almost falling in. Gold coins slipped from the side of his boat as it made slow progress shoving past everyone and Tilda watched in disgust as Alfrid pushed a man back into the freezing waters.

“And they say dwarves are the only ones victim to gold sickness,” muttered Kíli.

“Just keep going,” said Tauriel, watching the skies for the movement of the dragon. 

Suddenly Bain let out a shout as he spotted their da on top of the bell tower. He had his bow and was firing arrow after arrow into the dragon even as the flames chased up the sides of the wooden structure.

Tilda screamed for him, shouted for him to get back down so he could escape with them. But her shouts were burnt up in the flames along with everyone else’s.

After all, she wasn’t the only little girl screaming for her father.

“He hit it! He hit the dragon!” cried Kíli eagerly pointing up at the beast with a broad hopeful smile on his face.

“No…” breathed Tauriel shaking her head in disbelief.

“He hit it I saw! He hit his mark,” he asserted, and Tilda felt a sense of pride run through her.

However Tauriel just shook her head once more, seemingly unwilling to allow them a moment to believe this could all end well. “His arrows cannot pierce its hide. I fear nothing will.”  

There was a beat as they passed one of the statues to the master, a melancholy filling the spaces between them as the fire still raged all around, and then suddenly Bain was clambering out of the boat! 

“Bain! Bain, what are you doing?  Get back here Bain!” screeched Sigrid, trying to grab at him.

“It’s okay Sigrid,” he shouted back. “Remember what Ma said about my vision? It just means I’ve done this all before!” And he was racing off again, ignoring the shouts of his name and the pleas from his sisters.

“Leave him. We cannot go back,” said Tauriel as she watched Bain disappear behind another burning building, something grasped in his hand. Sigrid held onto Tilda tighter from then on, not letting her move so much as an inch. They heard the voice of the dragon ring out across the city as it talked to their father and Tilda felt silent tears fall down her face. 

It was hopeless, it was all hopeless. There was no escape from it all. It didn’t matter about Thorin or the elf king or any of that because her da was as good as dead, and so was Bain.

However just as they reached the town outskirts and away from the flames, something seemed to change. They could no longer hear the rumbling voice of Smaug, instead there was the sound of its own screams of panic. It was flying up and up away from the lake, screeching in pain as it desperately clawed at its chest.

“No…” gasped Tauriel in shocked awe. “A black arrow. Where did he find a black arrow?”

“Bain must have hid it.” Said Kíli, following Tauriel’s gaze, and they all stopped still to watch as the beast suddenly halted in mid air, its flames sputtering out as it suddenly began to fall, down, down until it crashed into the lake… dead at last. 

That wasn’t the end of its destruction though; its lifeless body taking out half the town on its own and Tilda couldn’t help but wonder at how many people had just been crushed to death in the very moment they’d all been saved.

“Your father’s a hero,” smiled Óin “They’ll be telling the tale of ‘Bard the Dragon Slayer’ for many years to come.”

“He was always a hero,” murmured Sigrid, looking forlornly out at the distant bell tower, which was now completely disintegrated.

“I cannot see him there but that does not mean he is dead.” Said Tauriel, turning round in the boat to grasp  Tilda’s hands, her tone far more hopeful than before. Sigrid turned her head to Fíli and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Smaug’s dead. He killed him - that has to mean something. Eru will look out for them both, keep them safe, you’ll see your brother and father again, I know it.”

“I thought Dwarves didn’t like Eru that much.” Sigrid replied with a raised eyebrow and a twitch of a smile. The dragon was dead and the flames were distant enough to allow her a moment to feel secure. 

“It’s a complicated relationship. I’ll explain it one day.” Chuckled Fíli, shivering slightly in the cold night air.

“Here,” Sigrid said, digging into in her pockets and pulling out a blue scarf. “Have this, keep you warm.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. You need it more than I do.” She passed it to him and as their fingers brushed—

 

_ A ball room. A dance. Laughter. Happiness. An engagement. A kiss. Love. _

 

The vision was faded and fuzzy, more so than any Tilda’d had before. There was something else there, a sense of loss, a melancholy, as though this premonition was only meant as a show of what might have been. However it was still there, a moment of potential happiness, something to fight up against the dismal landscape they found themselves in: with the still burning Laketown in the background and the sinking feeling that her da and Bain were still in there. Combined with her previous premonitions of battles and of what she’d seen on Raven Hill, she got the distinct impression that things were about to get a whole lot worse before anything good could even possibly happen. 

And yet there was still this vision to sustain her. A potential future where her sister smiled as bright as the sun as she danced with her betrothed. It was the only sliver of hope she had that they could all make it out of here alive and well, and Tilda tried to hold on to it as tightly as she could.

With a sly grin, Tilda poked Sigrid in ribs and began to murmur a rhyme in Rohirric known to every child in the Mark:

“ _ Sigrid and Fíli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-- _ ”

“ _ Oh shut up Tilda! _ ” barked her sister, shoving her to the side, her face going the colour of salmon. The rest of the boat looked at them in shock, with no idea what they were saying to one another before they all burst into fits of laughter. The noise filled the still air and for just a brief second everything seemed all right in the world.


	7. Together Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Monday so long as all goes to Plan =)
> 
> For news regarding the fic you can check out mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv

 

By the time they’d hit the shore the sun had risen and tents were already being set up for the wounded. Hundreds of people were pouring in, covered with thick red and black burns and struggling with crushed limbs from falling buildings. The sound of children hacking and coughing from smoke filled lungs filled the camp as they all desperately cried out for their missing families; many of whom would be found washed up on the shore in a week or two-- fat and bloated from the water. Sigrid launched straight into care mode, helping to carry victims away from the shore and to where the healers were already hard at work using whatever meagre supplies they’d been able to gather.  

One of the boys who had always bullied Tilda for her Sight was wandering around, his clothes singed from the flames as he called out for his parents. A week ago Tilda would have been happy to see him this distraught; but a lot had changed since then and she could never wish these events on anyone. She ran up to offer him help, to try and see if they could find his family together but the boy just snapped his hand away from her.

“This is all your fault! You did this! You and your visions you could have stopped this but you didn’t because you’re a curse. A freak!”

“Tilda, what’s happening, what’s going on here?” asked Fíli, running over to them.

“See!” The lad pointed at Fíli, his shouts loud enough for the whole lake to hear. “You let the dwarves in. You let them come into the town and they bought the dragon and, and it’s your fault that Mum’s not here.” Tears were pouring down his face. “You’re a curse and you deserve to be dead!”

“Hey, hey,” Fíli took a step forward, “I know you’re upset and we’ll help you out in any way we can but you need to stay calm. The only person to blame here is the dragon, Smaug’s the one who--”

The boy went to slap Fíli across the face but he reacted too fast, pinning the boy’s arms down to his sides.

“You get off of him! Haven’t you done enough damage?” shouted Hilda Bianca. She stormed towards them with a look of fury to rival any dragon, a pile of bedraggled blankets in her arms.

Fíli let the boy go and he went running into Hilda’s arms. Fíli still stood his ground though, never one to back away when those he cared about were being threatened “The lad was being rude to Tilda. I was only trying to help.”

“Well, you’re  _ not _ helping. Tilda, you can come with me.” Hilda held out her hand but Tilda shook her head and stepped nearer to Fíli.

“Thank you Miss Bianca, but I’m fine where I am.”

“No, come on Tilda, it’s not safe. We can find your da, I’m sure he’ll be around here somewhere--”

“Fíli can help me.” She said as she crossed her arms. “He’s the one who helped us get out of the flames and fought the orcs when they came and he’s never called me a freak or a curse or pulled at my hair or--”

 

_ Gold beyond measure. Enough to drown in. Shining everywhere. Tainted. Rotten. Sick. Thorin. _

 

The boy was clutched tightly to Hilda, pointing accusingly at Tilda. “See! She did it again, she did it  _ again _ !”

“Come on lad, let’s get you out of here,” muttered Hilda, not meeting Tilda’s eyes as she rushed him off to where they were gathering the other lost children.

“Do you need to sit down?” asked Fíli, looking at Tilda worriedly. “You had another vision didn’t you?”

Tilda gave a tiny nod, her eyes involuntarily glancing up at the mountain as she fiddled with the bottom of her coat. Fíli followed her gaze and looked back at her, panic on his face.

“What happened, is it Uncle? Are they safe? What happened Tilda, do you know?”

“I think they’re all alive…” Tilda began, not looking him in the eye.

“But?”

“I think there’s a problem. With Thorin, there was so much gold… so much it made me want to throw up. And he was surrounded by it and he looked so, so lost? Like he didn’t know who he was anymore…”

“Dragon-Sickness,” murmured Fíli, somehow looking even more worried than when Kíli was dying.

“Is he ill then?”

“Yes Tilda. He’s very ill. We have to go, I’m sorry, I know I said I’d help you look for your father but…” he shook his head. “I have to go find my uncle. I have to know what’s happening up there, before it’s too late.”

Tilda didn’t say anything, just took him by the hand and led him back to the medical tent, where they’d left the others to help look after the wounded. “We need to get going,” he said, helping Kíli to his feet. “It’s uncle. I’m worried about him. Come on Óin!” he shouted. “We need to go!”

“I’ve told you before; my place is with the sick. I’ll be more use here than in the mountain.”

“What if people in the mountain are sick? Like your  _ brother _ , for example? You want to go back and explain to Gimli why he won’t be seeing his father again?”

Óin heaved a sigh and clambered to his feet, apologising to the other healers for leaving so soon. They didn’t seem to mind, many of them against the idea of a dwarf helping to begin with.

“You’re going already?” asked Sigrid, a hesitant, tentative tone to her voice as she walked with them to where the boats were moored.

“I’m sorry it’s Thorin, Tilda said he’s got dragon-sickness. I have to go and see what I can do to help. I’m sorry, but he’s family, you understand that right?” he whispered, reaching out for her.

“’Course I do.” She nodded. “Go, good luck and no, keep the scarf. It was a gift.” She smiled as he tried to pass it back to her. “It’ll be cold up there in the mountain. You’ll need it.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and Tilda couldn’t help but smirk as she looked between the pair of them, recalling her earlier vision and starting to see where it was coming from. Tauriel had come over with them and was deep in conversation with Kíli who was holding her hand in his.

“Kíli come on, we’re leaving!” yelled his brother from the shore as he and the other dwarves tried to push the boat out into the lake.

Tilda wandered over to Kíli and caught the end of their conversation:

“I know how I feel, I’m not afraid. You make me feel alive.” He smiled and Tilda knew it wasn’t polite to eavesdrop but…

“I can’t,” said Tauriel as she reluctantly shook her head 

“Tauriel, Amrâlimê,” he replied, taking her hands in his once more.

“I don’t know what that means…”

“I think you do.”

Tilda bit her lip and winced as the blonde elf, Legolas, came up behind them and tried to get Tauriel to come with him. Kíli looked at him with distrust and began to back away to the boat where his own brother was still calling for him, desperate to be reunited with their uncle. Kíli hesitated for a moment, coming back to place something in Tauriel’s hands.

“Keep it. As a promise.” He smiled before jogging off to the boat that was already starting to float away.

Tilda watched it go off into the distance, Sigrid holding onto her shoulders.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” she asked, looking up at her sister.

“I hope so Tilda. I hope so. Come on, let’s just keep looking for Da and Bain.” She squeezed her hand and the pair went back to it, calling out as loud as they could and questioning anybody who might have seen anything. Sigrid would never say it for her sake, but Tilda could tell she was becoming more and more resigned to the idea that they weren’t coming back. That it would just be her and Tilda alone forever more, with only Sigrid left to carry the memories of their mother. However Tilda wouldn’t let herself believe any of that. She’d seen her father’s future, true he wasn’t having the best of times, but he was alive none the less. Bain on the other hand…

There was a commotion gathering attention beside one of the tents. It sounded as if Alfrid had said something to annoy Hilda Bianca and was paying the price for it. This time, with the master gone, there was nobody around to save him.

Amidst the chaos though there was one voice Tilda recognised instantly. The sound of it was like waking up on your birthday to find presents at the end of your bed. It felt like the paper lanterns and scented flowers of Yule, bringing happiness and light into the dark-- and it was the best feeling in the world! She broke free of Sigrid’s grip and raced towards it, shoving her way through the crowds to get to him, her father, whole and healthy and pulling her into a hug.

Sigrid chased after her and launched into the embrace as well, Bain wrapping his arms around them all so tightly Tilda thought he’d never be able to let go. The four of them stood like that for as long as they could, laughing and crying at how lucky they all were to have made it out alive. How blessed they were to have this. Nothing in the world could hurt them as long as they stayed together from here on out.

“It was Bard. He killed the dragon. I saw him with my own eyes. He bought the beast down. With a black arrow.” Shouted Percy and the moment was broken.

Everybody rushed towards them in a mass of reaching hands, cheering their father’s name like he was some hero from an old tale. However Bard just backed away from them holding his children closer to his chest. Tilda could tell this was not what he wanted, not why he’d killed the dragon. Their father’s first thought was always of them, having never been one to chase after power and glory. However it seemed that life was about to change for them all in ways not even she’d been able to predict. 

Claustrophobia was starting to overtake her as people continued to push further towards them and cut into their space. Sigrid pulled her from her father’s arms as everyone tried to shake his hand but Alfrid got in there first. 

“All hail the Dragon Slayer! All hail King Bard!” he cried, pulling their father’s hand hand into the air, his look of disgust at odds to Alfrid’s triumphancy. “I have said it many times. This is a man of noble stock. A born leader.”

  
Bard yanked his hand out of Alfrid’s and gave him a foul look. “Do not call me that. I am not Master of this town. Where is he? Where’s the Master?” he cried out, his eyes searching the crowd for the fiend in question. 

“Halfway down the Anduin. With all our coin, I don’t doubt,” scoffed Hilda. “You would know.” She hissed at Alfrid, taking a threatening step forward. “You helped him empty the treasury.”

Alfrid began to stammer his denial, claiming that he was just following orders, painting himself the victim of it all. He tried to defend himself by grabbing a hold of Tilda in order to make a big show of how he cared for all the children; how  _ he _ was the only one looking out for everyone’s best interest. However years of his spite and cruelty meant that no one believe a single second of it all; and Tilda took great relish in stomping on his foot as her own revenge for all he’d ever done to them. Bain and many others burst into laughter, but Sigrid didn’t see anything funny about it. She pulled Tilda back towards her as she glared lethal daggers at Alfrid.

Long withheld insults thrown at him turned into death threats, the people releasing their anger at all that had happened onto him. Those nearest grabbed a hold of him, four strong men tugging at his limbs as though they wished to pull them right off. The shouts of the mob egged them on, everyone lost to the blind rage and fury that came with such loss as they had suffered. 

“Enough!” Roared her da, his voice rising above all others, his own anger getting a hold of him. “Let him go! Let him go!” Bard made his way forward and shoved people aside, though many simply backed away almost reverently; and in there Tilda could see that whether Da liked it or not, Alfrid was right. Her father was a natural leader, and he was proving it right now. 

“Look around you!” he continued, “Have you not had your fill of death? Winter is upon us. We must look to our own. To the sick and the helpless. Those who can stand, tend to the wounded. Those who have strength, follow me. We must salvage what we can.”

“What then?” Hilda called after him, clutching a blanket to her chest, her voice almost breaking as the gravity of their situation began to fall about her. “What’ll we do then?”

“We find shelter,” replied Bard simply, his eyes flicking up at the ruins of Dale, the place his mother’s family had so often referred to as their true home. 

After all, Laketown was only built as a temporary shelter for them until they could return to their once beloved city. It seemed only appropriate, now that their refuge had been subject to the same terrible fate, that this would be the day they reclaimed their homeland. To once more rise out of the ashes and rebuild a brighter future together based on the memories of the past. It was as though Dale had always been there, waiting to welcome them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep! Having an absence seizure Mid-sentence is totally a thing that happens on a regular basis and let me tell you, it is incredibly confusing! Sometimes you might realise you were having an absence (the correct term for my kind of seizure -- the kind Tilda has in the fic) sometimes you're not. For me I often find that I know that I was talking, but I have absolutely no idea what it was about or who I was addressing. 
> 
> This is not the same for everyone, and some people have their Absence and continue from where they left of, like pressing pause on a video, others might just go about doing something completely different. 
> 
> But it is no less frustrating, annoying or socially problematic/isolating. 
> 
> I've decided to maybe point out a few things like this at the end and expand upon them a bit further, if that's something you guys might be more interested in seeing? 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you all Next Monday =)


	8. Darkness Arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Every Monday so long as everything goes to plan!
> 
> Check out mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/GOTV for updates/news regarding the fic =)

Tilda held onto her father’s hand all the way as they climbed up to Dale. She and Bain ran through all that had happened whilst their father was locked up: from the orc attack to the arrival of the elves, to the journey in the boat. Bain seemed particularly keen to talk about how amazing Legolas had been, cutting up the orcs and then racing off after them with no one to act as backup. Bain went on and on about what a  _ fantastic _ prince Legolas must be and how  _ strong _ he was and how  _ amazing _ his fighting skills were and did they think Prince Legolas might show  _ him _ how to wield a sword like that one day?

Sigrid and Bard exchanged amused expressions whilst Tilda did her best to stifle her giggles. It seemed that it wasn’t just Sigrid who was developing a crush on their rescuers; though she was perhaps a bit more subtle about it-- only glancing to the mountain every now and then when she thought no one was looking. Tilda was about to launch into another attack of teasing about what skills Sigrid might like  _ Fíli _ to show her, when she caught a full sight of Dale for the first time and all other thoughts vanished from her head.

It looked just like she’d imagined in the stories her father had told her. Great white stone towers, bright red rooftops with a few shoots of ivy that had stubbornly survived the fire storm. The city was broken and burnt, just like the people of Laketown, but it still stood tall and beneath the damage you could still see all the evidence of its former glory; wall paintings, statues, elegant fountains that had long since dried up. Tilda looked about it in amazement, taking in everything she could, not wanting to forget a single detail. As she investigated the railings that ran along the great stone steps which lead into the main city, she spotted a small glittering object at the side of the road. She went over to have a look and discovered it was an ancient gold coin, something that must have been dropped when people first fled the city. She picked it up to take a closer look and an idea shot through her. She ran up to her father, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him up the path to the main gate.

“Woah, woah there horsie” he laughed. “What’s the big rush? Dale’s not going anywhere!”

“I found a coin! If the first person through a new building has money in their hand then it’s good luck.” She huffed, pulling him along and with a triumphant grin took her first step into their new…

Something had gone wrong. It had been the middle of the day before but now it was dark, the stone grey and slimy rather than the crisp cream colour of before. Her first thought was that it had to be a vision but that didn’t make sense either. Usually a vision felt like watching something through a window. She was apart from it, separate and distant to everything happening, no matter how terrifying. But this felt like she was actually here, she could feel the darkness creeping around her, feel the cold air on her skin and got the distinct feeling that she was being watched.

She wrapped her arms tight around herself and tried her hardest not to panic. There had to be an explanation, that’s what Sigrid would say. Something logical and sensible, not something fantastical like Dale being a magical portal to another land or that she had been kidnapped by fairies or that she was dead and this was the… 

Oh no, she was dead. That was the only explanation she was dead and she’d never see her family again and she was dead. She began to cry, great heaving sobs that she couldn’t stop. She was dead. She didn’t want to be dead! It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair!

She started to run, she didn’t know where to but there  _ had _ to be someone else there, she  _ couldn’t _ be alone in the afterlife! She careened down a stone staircase and through a maze of ruined walls, past towering pillars until she saw a figure making its way through the darkness. It glowed like starlight, a powerful silver shine that she felt drawn to. She picked up her speed and chased towards them, crying out for their help. Maybe it was one of the servants of the Valar? Or even one of them! Could it be Varda, the Star-Queen herself?! She certainly seemed beautiful enough. Or perhaps Estë or Nienna or Vána or…

“Wait! Wait!” Tilda cried. “Please, what’s happening? Please help me I don’t know where I am!” Her voice echoed through the darkness, but the figure didn’t turn around, bending instead to pick up someone who’d collapsed on the floor. Tilda carefully made her way closer before stopping dead in her tracks as a creaking, nail sharp voice screeched out across the air, every syllable laden with merciless hate. She couldn’t understand a word of it but the figure seemed to as she spoke along with it:

“Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die.” Her voice was soft and beautiful yet filled with the same fear that Tilda felt coursing through her. The sound of thunder crashed around them as new figures joined them, white as smoke and shrieking as they drew weapons. The woman clutched her friend to her chest, cradling his head and a small smile spread across her face at the creature’s words.

“But I am not alone.” Her eyes darted up to meet with Tilda’s and in those elvish eyes Tilda saw starlight and hope and a belief that things could change for the better. There was something familiar about her voice, as though she’d spoken to her before, but the thought drifted away from her as another voice came booming out from behind them.

“Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” said an old man in the same shining white robes and the sight of him filled Tilda with confidence. She knew him! He was the White Wizard! The man she’d seen in her visions, always reading in his office and speaking into his secret marble ball.

“You should have stayed dead,” came another voice, an elf clad in golden armour. Again, she recognised him from her visions! He had a daughter he loved very much and she’d seen him walking through his city with her as they spoke of love. The sight of him reminded her of her own family, her own father and she knew somehow that she would be reunited with them. That this was not the end for any of them.

The elf drew his sword and began fighting the creatures one at a time, forcing them back into puffs of smoke, showing no fear despite the pure dread they seemed to exude. Tilda clapped and cheered them on, no longer feeling afraid. The creatures didn’t even seem to know she was there, or at least had made no notice of her presence, and maybe if she was a ghost herself it didn’t matter anymore because these people were here, fighting for the lives of their friends and everyone else in Arda.  

The woman still sat in the centre, stroking her hands through her friend’s hair as she whispered to him. Tilda ran towards her, reaching out to see if she could help, but her hands passed through her as though she were made of steam. Tilda panicked as she tried desperately to clutch at the woman but it was like trying to grasp at water, she kept slipping through of her and although she could feel  _ something  _ there it was definitely nothing solid. The woman put up a hand to gently cup her face, though Tilda still could not feel her touch. 

“It is all fine, daughter of the lake. I am Galadriel, I am the one who bought you here, for you above all people need to understand what is happening.”

“Happening? This is all real?” she said, looking around at the ghosts still trying to smash and kill the woman’s companions. “I’m not, I’m not dead am I?”

“No. You are very much alive,” smiled Galadriel, “It is the others I fear for.” She lovingly stroked the face of the man her lap and suddenly Tilda recognised him as the Grey Wizard who’d been travelling with the dwarves. 

“Mirthrandir, come back,” whispered Galadriel, kissing his forehead.

“Are they here?” He croaked, as oblivious to Tilda’s presence as everyone else was.

“Yes. The darkness has returned.” She nodded gravely, and the life seemed to drain away from him even faster. Out of the night another wizard came racing through on a sleigh pulled by rabbits. In any other situation Tilda would have been begging to pet them but instead she could only feel grateful as the wizard heaved Mithrandir onto the sleigh. Tilda could only stand to the side, feeling caught up in everything going around her yet as helpless as though it really were just another vision.

“He is weak. He cannot remain here,” stuttered Galadriel, her own power dripping away, every grain of it going into bringing her friend back to life.

He stretched out his hand, grasping at her fingers, as weak and as feeble as a newborn. “Come with me, my lady,” he croaked, but Galadriel just shook her head, letting go of him and watching as he was sped away to safety. Suddenly there was a rush like the noise of a fire taking light. Tilda spun around to see what it was only to fall backwards onto the stone floor at the sight of it.

Evil. Pure fear and hatred was standing before her, a giant fiery eye that pulsated and crackled with dark magic. She felt breathless, like there was no more air in the world. There was nothing left anywhere but the eternal wave of despair that emanated from the beast. There would be no goodness left alive after this moment. They had lost, this was the end, this darkness was coming for them. All hope was gone. 

A second whooshing noise came up from behind her and at first she thought it was another ghost. But when it spoke she recognised the green and black creature to be Galadriel, her voice deeper and more terrifying than ever she’d heard it before. Tilda found herself more afraid of this once serene woman, whom she’d thought to be a friend, than the evil beast before them.

“You are nameless!” growled Galadriel, taking a step forward.

“Formless.” She raised her hand.

“Powerless.” Her dress began to billow up from behind her and Tilda stared open mouthed at her.

“Go back to the void from whence you came!” she bellowed and with a flash of bright white light Tilda found herself back in the gateway to Dale, breathless and bruised, screaming though she did not realise it.

Someone was talking to her, but Tilda couldn’t recognise them at all until she was wrapped in the arms and the comforting smell of her sister. The touch of her hand and her soothing words helped bring Tilda back to the present until her screams turned to tears. She shook in Sigrid’s arms, her hands fisting into the back of her shirt as she sobbed into her shoulder.

“Shhh, shhh, Tilly it’s alright you’re safe, you’re safe, my little colt, it’s alright.” She kissed the side of her head. “We’re safe, there’s nothing here to hurt you.”

“Siggy.” Tilda’s voice broke and she cried harder than ever.

“Oh my Tilly, don’t cry, it’s alright. It’s fine.” She rocked her gently in her arms, just as a mother would, until Tilda’s breathing returned to normal, and she had no more tears left to cry.

“Don’t do that to me again,” sniffed Sigrid. “You were gone for so long Tilda, I thought you weren’t going to come back to us.”

Now that Tilda looked about her, she could see just how long she’d been under for. There were only a few people trailing into the city now, those who had been too sick to move when they set out, and had stayed by the lake. The sun was starting to set, the night drawing in around them… 

“What happened Tilda, what did you see?”

Tilda just shook her head. She didn’t know what she’d seen. Couldn’t even be certain anymore if it was real or not. She couldn’t even begin to think how to explain it all to anyone, let alone her sister. All she knew was that she needed to sleep, and prayed to all the Valar that it would be dreamless.


	9. Not all Gifts are Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every monday so long as things go to plan!
> 
> Posting early today (i.e. 11am GMT+2) because I have a lot of work to do before class and don't want the distraction of having to post this... also procrastination.... 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> And remember, you can always check mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/GOTV for updates and news regarding the fic =)

Sigrid carried Tilda on her back all the way through the city until they reached the Grand Hall where the other refugees had haled up. She’d fallen asleep half way there, exhausted as she was from the continuous visions she’d been having. It wasn’t until Bain was running up to them that she began to stir into consciousness, though she stubbornly kept her eyes shut, not yet ready to admit to being awake.

“How is she?” she heard Bain ask, feeling him come up beside her and touch her arms as if to take her from Sigrid. Sigrid twist her away though, warning him against waking her up.

“I can manage, it’s alright. She needs her sleep.” She felt her sister sigh as she gently rearranged her on her back.

“How long did it last?” Bain asked instead.

“Too long. Well over an hour. They’re getting worse Bain, I know they are. The longest she ever had was five minutes and they were the longest five minutes of my life. This might as well have been an eternity, her empty eyes and … I’m worried Bain.”

“I know.” He said carefully, “but, but maybe it’s like a fever you know? It has to get worse before it gets better. Maybe after this she won’t have anymore. Madge said earlier, with her Aaron, he had them when he was her age but by the time he was a teenager they were gone!”

“Bain I don’t think that’s what’s happening here…”

“But what if--”

“For fucks sake” growled her sister, who only ever swore when at her wits’ end. “You need to understand she’s not going to be cured over night. Your sister is a Seer.  Get that into your head and stop trying to fix it. There’s no medicine she can take, no spells we can cast. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

“I never said anything like that,” Hissed her brother. “I’m just being realistic here. There’s a chance is all I’m saying. The Valar have put us through so much, Ma, the sickness, the dragon, surely we’ve earned this? Our little sister getting to be normal for once.”

Tilda felt all her breath leave her. So that’s what Bain thought… that she was a freak just like everyone else said. She knew that her family were affected by her visions, knew that none of this could have been easy on them, but hadn’t considered that this was as good as a punishment on them. She heard Sigrid give out a disgusted noise and they were moving forward again.

“You’re such a child Bain. Can’t you see? She’s getting these visions for a reason, same as with yours. You had just one and it helped kill a dragon, she’s getting all of these and… and they’re getting more powerful and more frequent. Can’t you feel it too? There’s something building in the air. We survived the flames but this is not the end of our troubles.”

There was a silence as Sigrid’s pace quickened and Tilda could practically hear her scowl.

Bain’s footsteps speed up again, his voice slightly louder this time. “Siggy, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m worried about her too. I just want what’s best for her and, you can’t blame me for hoping that she’ll get over this can you?”

“I know Bain, I know I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, I just... I get how you feel, I do. If I could I’d charge up there and punch Eru square in the face; leave him bleeding on the floor for all he’s done to us. Kick him in the godly bollocks whilst I’m at it.” Tilda stifled a giggle at the image that mimicked Bain’s own outburst.

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see. Sigrid, Shieldmaiden of Laketown, taking on the Valar in the showdown of an age!”

She felt Sigrid laugh as her shoulders relaxed and their pace slowed down from a determined march to a gentle walk, the slow rocking motion helping Tilda to gently drift off to sleep once more. 

  
  


~*~

 

The strangest thing about the Forest was that it wasn’t real. Well, it was sort of real but only in the same way the legends of Luthien were real. The warm dry smell of the earth was a memory she didn’t have, the dappled sunlight warming her skin just part of her imagination and the beautiful music playing in the distance only a dream. Tilda knew that it wouldn’t take much effort to swap and change things around, to change the weather with a blink or twirl her hand and make the trees grow. There was no time to experiment with that now though. There was something here that she needed to see, someone she needed to talk to. 

She didn’t know where they were though, and thought about how useful it would be if she could jump to the top of the trees so as she could see everything from above...  the next thing she knew she was leaping from branch to branch like a squirrel, laughing and smiling as she did so. It turned out the place she needed was an elven city, this one made entirely of trees! The buildings wrapped around the tree trunks and between their branches in perfect balance with one another.

As she slid up the banister of one of the buildings, she heard a voice calling to her again:

_ Gi suilon Matilda, iell o Kendra. Nathlo Lothlorien. _

“ _ Mae g’ovannen Galadriel _ !” called out Tilda and then she frowned. She didn’t know the language of the elves. So how on earth had she….

_ Everything is possible when you’re only thinking it, _ came Galadriel’s voice and suddenly the pair of them were sitting on a bench in a glen, looking at a splashing fountain. There was a peace to this place, a magic there that meant no evil being could penetrate its borders. She didn’t feel afraid anymore. Not of the cruelty she had seen nor of any of the events she knew were just around the corner.

“Are you feeling better now then?” asked Tilda, swinging her feet.

“I am better than I was, however I used up much of my power back in that forsaken place, and am much diminished. Which is why I am only able to talk to you in your dreams, for which I apologise.”

“It’s alright,” shrugged Tilda. “I think you’ve done it before anyway, haven’t you? I get it now, I thought it was Ma’s voice in my dreams and visions, but it was your’s, wasn’t it?”

“Are you disappointed that it wasn’t your mother?”

“A little…” admitted Tilda, looking down at her now bare feet. Having grown up on a lake she’d never actually felt what it was like to have grass beneath her toes. It felt soft and warm, the blades gently tickling the soles of her feet. “I’d have liked to know Ma at least a little bit…”

“Your mother was a brave woman and a powerful Seer. It is a shame you did not know her as well as you should have. My own grandchildren lost their mother, my daughter, when they were young—though they were not so by your standards. I can not imagine what it must have been like for one as young as yourself.”

“Well I never knew her, so I think it was worse for Bain and Siggy…”

“You sister does you all a great credit. Indeed, I can already see the wise and powerful queen your sister would make one day, should everything work out as it ought to.”

“A queen!” said Tilda, wide-eyed. “So my vision was right! She  _ is _ going to marry Fíli!” She clapped her hands excitedly. That had to mean that everything was alright then. If Sigrid was going to be queen and marry a dwarf then there can’t have been a battle and so there was no way that any of them could be die!

“But then...” Tilda hesitated, biting her lip. “What about everything that happened at Dol Guldor… who was that? What does it all mean? Why did you take me there?”

“Because you needed to see it,” said Galadriel, calmly. “Because you need to understand how crucial it is that you succeed.”

“Succeed at what? You’re not saying anything!” cried Tilda, throwing her hands in the air.

“The evil you saw is Sauron. He is not all powerful yet, but his very reappearance threatens our existence and I fear that his powers will only grow in time. We have delayed his full return but for how long even I do not know. The age of elves is ending. Many of my kin have fled to the undying lands already and in time I shall join them. The age of men is upon us and so it is to men we must look. Or,” she gave a small sly smile, “to young girls.”

“Me?” Tilda raised her eyebrows. “I can’t stop this! I can’t do anything like this. That’s not, that’s not how this works!” she cried. “I can’t, I’m not. You should be asking someone else. I’m, I’m not old enough for this…”

Galadriel sighed, her head tilting upwards to look up at the stars that were starting to blink into life above them, their light brighter and more beautiful than Tilda had ever seen before. She turned her gaze to focus on Galadriel’s and it was as if she was finding answers in the constellations “Alas, I fear you are correct.” she said at last “You are not at all old enough for this responsibility to be placed upon you but so it often is that the most unlikely of people shall achieve the greatest of deeds. What is asked of you is no small task, but having seen how you coped in Dol Guldur I am certain that there is no one more capable of doing that which is needed most.”

“You’re still not making any sense.” huffed Tilda, crossing her arms and turning away from the sky. 

“I shall try to explain better then.” Smiled Galadriel “Sauron has been amassing an army of orcs led by Azog the Defiler. He wishes to slaughter the line of Durin and claim the mountain as his own.”

Tild let out a horrified gasp “He wants to kill Fíli and Kíli! Why?”

“Because,  _ Mellonin _ , the mountain is the stronghold of the north. If Sauron were to take hold of it then it would spell doom for us all. The south is already in great danger but there is, you could say, already  _ hope  _ for Gondor.” A grin twitched across her face, as though she had just made some great joke but Tilda couldn’t see what was so funny about any of this.

“So, if this Sauron… thing, gets the mountain then we’re all dead. He’ll come back again?”

“And bring doom upon us all, yes.” There was such gravity to her voice such as Tilda had not heard before. Most adults tried to hide such truths from her, to make it seem as though even the most horrible of things were not as terrible as you might think. That dragons were still sleeping in the mountains and orcs in lands so distant you’d never be able to see them up close even if you were foolish enough to want to. 

And Tilda didn’t want to. She had never wanted to. Despite everything she’d been through she knew that she wasn’t ready for anything else. Her visions hadn’t prepared her for anything, hadn’t made her brave or noble or anything like that. She didn’t have the strength to defend a mountain against an army when she felt like she was barely holding onto her own sanity. 

“But don’t you see,” she said, trying to explain all of this to Galadriel “Everyone’s right. I’m just a little girl. I’m not meant to be the one to save the day.”

“There is nothing  _ just  _ about being a girl,” corrected Galadriel and Tilda rolled her eyes; she sounded just like Sigrid. “I do not ask you to look out for all of the North. Only to ensure that the line of Durin remain strong. Keeping a direct descendant of Durin on the throne would provide hope to the dwarven races in a way Ironfoot’s claim would not, for the north to remain free it is vital that the direct heirs to the throne survive. That is all I ask of you. For you to use your gifts to keep your friends alive.”

Tilda firmly shook her head at Galadriel’s words. That really had to settle it, there was no way she had that kind of power, that was reserved for the people of Gondor and Rohan, the people from the big countries who were legend makers, not kids from small fishing towns.   “My gifts aren’t like that. They’re not meant to help me do anything, they they just show me things and, and I have to watch them happen. I can’t actually stop anything from actually happening! It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Really? You’ve never had a vision and found you were able to change the course of your own future? To make sure it never occurs?”

Tilda gripped the bench as she picked at the grass with her toes. She had managed to change the future on a few occasions. It had never been anything massive though. It was just small things. Like being able to warn her da about the weather so he knew when was safe to go out on the barge, or when the baker would be selling bread at the cheapest price so as Sigrid could run out and buy it before anyone else did. She’d even been able to save her own neck on a couple of occasions, visions of bullies acting as a warning as to which streets were safe to walk down. 

“Why me though? Why do I have to be the one to save them? Aren’t there other people who can do this? Like, wizards and elves? Aren’t you the ones who are meant to save the day, like in all the stories?”

“Tilda there is something I want you to know. Mithrandir once told me that it was the little things in life that keep evil at bay, acts of love and kindness. These are things I think you know better than anyone, having grown up as you have. Motherless, impoverished, put upon by your peers due to your gifts; yet the love between your family has never faulted, always remaining true to one another.

“Then there is also the fact that you are a child to a Shieldmaiden and a Dragon Slayer. A Powerful Seer from a long line of Powerful Seers, and who has the blood of Girion running through their veins. You have a mighty ancestry, yet you understand that it is not gold that makes life worth living but rather the bonds of love we share. Tilda, there is nobody more worthy of this task than you.”

Tilda thought this all over, looking out at the fountain and watching the water jump and splash about. In between the falling waters she caught an image of the future, like a series of paintings appearing one after the other: a dwarf who looked just like Thorin but wearing a beautiful black dress shouting at a ginger dwarf wearing a raven crown. The same ginger dwarf arguing with her father and the elf king. A great mine filled with the skeletons of a thousand dead dwarves, including one with the same woolly gloves as Ori...

Then the pictures seemed to speed backwards to the start.

This time the female dwarf was laughing with Fíli and Kíli, holding them close to her. Thorin and her Da smiling as they worked together on an important document. A mine laid abandoned and blocked off from the outside world, with a warning scrawled across the door to those who might venture in unawares of the danger. Men and Dwarves fighting side by side with confidence and skill as though they were kin. Then it started back again, the ginger dwarf and the female dwarf, the argument, the mine, a Durinless future filled with pain and grief…

“How do I save them then?”

“I cannot say,” said Galadriel, shaking her head. “Already there are too many outcomes to this. Too many ways this could end, both good and bad. Trust in your gifts and all shall be well. Wake up now, Tilda, daughter of Kendra, and remember to be brave, or else the worst will surely come upon us all.”

Tilda opened her eyes and she was back in Dale, her head resting on her sister’s lap. There was quiet all around save for a few whispered conversations between those who feared what sleep might bring. Tilda slowly got to her feet, trying her best not to wake Sigrid and made her way towards the side room where she knew her father would be busy organising what their next steps might be.

It was time to confess everything she’d seen these past few days. If anyone was going to be able to help save the north, it was him. Not because he was a dragon slayer or a ruler, but because he was her father; and there was nothing in the world he could not do.

She walked up to him where he was busy talking to Percy about things she didn’t understand, something about ‘building reinforcements’ and ‘rooming assignments’? She tugged on his coat to get his attention and her father looked down at her, a smile spreading across his face.

He crouched down to engulf her in hug allowing Tilda burying her face in his neck as she squeezed him tight. He chuckled as she did so, squeezing her back. “As much as I love to see you darling, what are you doing awake? It’s late and it’s been a long long day.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She mumbled into his coat. “Needed to talk to you.”

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No…. but….”

“But what Love? Wait, was it something you saw?” he whispered just loud enough for only her to hear. Percy knew that she had the Sight but it still held a stigma to it that even their friends wouldn't put aside.

“Sort of… I need to speak to you and it’s  _ really _ important.”

“Bard, we really don’t have time for this kind of thing, we’ve barely any food and no guarantees that the dwarf will keep his promises.” sighed Percy, exasperatedly.

For a brief moment, Tilda’s eye caught a sight of something carved into the wall just behind him. It was a stag, or possibly an elk, covered in flakes of gold leaf. The shapes and the colours sparked something inside of her, and suddenly she found herself remembering a vision from months ago, one she’d simply dismissed as unimportant to any of them… She smirked to herself as she addressed Percy with a note of defiance. “You don’t need to worry about that actually because King Thranduil’s coming and he’ll bring food and water and all that stuff. It’s mainly vegetables but that’s alright when you’re hungry.”

“See Perce,” smiled Bard as he suppressed a laugh. “King Thranduil’s on his way. No problem at all.”

Percy just blinked at them, uncertain how to respond, “Well, we still need to think about--”

“It’s really important.” Tilda explained again, frustrated at Percy’s lack of understanding. “Really  _ really _ important and I’m only allowed to tell Da.” She possessively grabbed his arm in both of her hands, daring Percy to try and separate them.

“Sorry, Perce, I’m needed elsewhere. You can manage without me, I’m sure this won’t take long.” And without another word on the matter, Bard allowed Tilda to lead him away to the side. “So what’s wrong then?” He smiled, sitting down with his back against the wall and pulling Tilda onto his lap.

“I need to tell you things and you have to let me say them and not talk until I’m done.” She said carefully, “Promise?”

“I promise.” He smiled, crossing his heart.

Tilda took a deep breath and suddenly she was confessing everything to him. The visions of the dwarves from the past year, how they were of the same dwarves that had come into their house and actually she’d seen them coming up through their toilet a week before it happened, she just didn’t tell him because he always looked so sad when she told him about her visions and she didn’t want him to look sad anymore.

She told him about the all orcs she’d seen and what they’d been doing, about Thorin and Thranduil and about how Fíli and Kíli were going to be in trouble and she needed to save them-- but she didn’t know how to save them she just knew that she had to because Azog wanted to kill them all so as Sauron could control the mountain; because apparently Erebor would be stronger if Fíli or Kíli or even Thorin were on the throne and she didn’t want them to die anyway because they were actually all really nice people if you got to know them, but she wasn’t really sure how to save them, only that she had to; and she knew that Thorin would probably end up saying some things that might upset Bard, but what her Da needed to understand was that Thorin was sick and people say weird things when they’re sick.

“And so basically I don’t want Sauron to come back because he did loads of really really horrible things, and I’m scared by him but so are the elves so it’s not just me being silly.”

For the longest time her father didn’t say anything, just stroked her back as his eyes darted about as if searching for an answer amongst the brick work. She saw the physical weight of leadership press down upon his shoulders once more, making him look older than she’d ever seen him, but this time it was twinged with the same sadness she knew all too well. It was the look he had when he thought he’d failed them all, when he’d had to come home without money for food, or when Sigrid had to take on extra work or that year he’d been unable to get them anything for Yule because money had just been too tight. She was beginning to regret mentioning anything at all until he pulled her further onto his lap and kissed the top of her head.

“Oh Tilda my baby girl” He smiled, a slight lump to his throat that he was obviously fighting against. “Promise to never keep these things from me again? I thought you’d stopped talking about your visions because you’d grown out of them, not that you thought I didn’t want to hear about them. I want to know about everything that bothers you, about what’s going on in your life and I’m so sorry for making you think otherwise. I’m sorry for making you feel ashamed of your gifts. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done and everything I’ve failed to do. I’m sorry for being such a terrible father to you… I promised your ma that I’d look after you, but it seems you’ve been the one looking after me!” he chuckled, tears in his eyes as he nuzzled the top of her head. “I might have slain a dragon, but you’re still a far braver person than I could ever be and I’m so, so proud of you, and I know your mother would be as well.”

He gave her a hug and at first she protested, stammering about more important things but a moment later she was clinging to him as tightly as when she’d had her first vision nearly four years ago now. To her that was a life time, but she’d heard her Da talk about it as if it had happened yesterday. She’d never liked being reminded that she was the youngest or that her Da still saw her as a baby, but right now she’d give up everything in Arda to be young again.

“What are we going to do Da?” she whispered into the crook of his neck

“Well. What we’re going to do,” he began carefully, “is, that-- we’re going to take everything as it comes. We’re going to get aid from the elves and give everyone a fair share, and then once that’s done I will talk to Thorin and see if we can get the money he promised.”

“But you do that and it doesn’t work!” protested Tilda, pulling back out of the hug to look at him “You go and you talk to him but he just shouts at you and says mean things!”

“Well maybe now I know that, he won’t say them and if he does I’ll be more prepared to deal with it.” He smiled, brushing away the silent tears falling down her cheeks. “I have to try, Tilda, and I promise you,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “whatever happens I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and to help you in any way I can. You understand me?”

“But, but Galadriel said that I had to…”

“She said nothing about you having to do it alone Cariad. This time, this time I promise to be by your side, no matter what. Thank You for telling me all this.” He smiled, pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

“Bard! Bard you have to come see this!” shouted Percy from the entrance way that Alfrid had meant to be watching.

“Don’t tell me,” sighed Bard, pulling Tilda off his lap. “It’s a bunch of elves come to deliver us aid?”

“I-I don’t think it’s as straightforward as that…” stammered Percy, beckoning them.

Bard trudged over, holding tight to Tilda’s hand.

“Alright…” began Bard uncertainly as he stared open mouthed at the sight before him. “So, a few more elves than I was expecting…”

Percy let out a breath of laughter. “You don’t say? Less a small convoy, more a large army.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so that small section where Tilda suddenly remembers a vision because of the decorations on the wall is something that happens to me when I’ve had an Absence. (Absence is the correct term for my kind of seizure—the kind that Tilda has)
> 
> Now I don’t know if this is true for other Absence Seizure People, but I find that colours or patterns helps me remember things that happened before I had an absence? So if I have one whilst talking, and I’m, say, unpacking the shopping from Sainsbury’s Supermarket, when I come back round I find that the bright orange of the plastic bags helps me remember what was saying. Or if I was painting, then looking at colours on the page will help me remember what someone was saying to me at the time. So yeah, that’s why that’s in there and I thought I’d draw attention to it as a pint of interest!
> 
> See you next Monday! And may all of you have a seizure free week <3
> 
>  
> 
> Translation:
> 
>  
> 
> I greet you Matilda, daughter of Kendra. Welcome to Lothlorien
> 
>  
> 
> What’s the hope for Gondor? Why it’s Aragorn of course! Who the elves know as Estel. Which means Hope in Sindarin. So Galadriel is making a Pun because she totally would.


	10. Seers, Snow and Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates still planned for every Monday!
> 
> We're near the end now Chaps, not long to go now!

Tilda stared wide-eyed at the rows upon rows of beings clad in golden armour that glittered in the sunlight. Tilda felt frozen to the spot by their presence, uncertain what was happening. She’d seen the elves arrive in her vision but then all she’d seen was a cart filled with cabbage. Even the elves she’d already met could not prepare her for sight of so many all in one place…

Something about them reminded her of the stags she’d seen roaming through the forest in her visions. There was a nobility to them, a certain grace and elegance ingrained in their very soul. Yet they were not delicate, they were not fragile, just like the stag she knew that it would only take one wrong move on her behalf and she would be speared through the heart by a creature a hundred times more powerful than she was. Her da took a tentative step forward, only to flinch back when the elves moved in one swift organic motion more like a dance than an army manoeuvre, yet somehow it made them feel all the more deadly.

Bard held his hand out to her, not so much for her peace of mind but for his own. Afterall, the events of the past few days had shown that they were all stronger together. She scurried towards him and grasped at his offered hand, staring at the motionless elves with continued awe. As they made their way to the end of the battalion they heard the sound of hooves and a moment later a cart was rolling into the stone square, laden down with fresh vegetables and grain; enough supplies to last them for the next two months so long as they were careful. People had gathered outside now, made curious by Percy’s shouts and now they were all rushing forward, their fear of the elves forgotten at the sight of such wealth. Indeed, most of them hadn’t eaten since the burning of the lake.

“Percy,” called Bard. “See to the supplies, make sure everyone has their fair share. Don’t let anyone take anything that’s not been recorded.”

Tilda squeezed her da’s hand tightly, smiling up at him with pride at how he was already taking command. There was the sound of hooves again and in through the stone gateway came a sight that made Tilda gasp. An elf, more serene and deadly than any and appearing doubly so due to the gigantic elegant elk he was sat astride. Rather appropriate really, for if his men were deer than he was an elk.

“My Lord Thranduil,” began her father with a slight breath of disbelief. “I thank you for your aid with all my heart, but I have to confess, we did not expect so many of you.”

Thranduil seemed taken aback by the statement, his fine eyebrows angled into a frown. “I find your turn of phrase rather curious, we have never sworn any allegiance to the people of Laketown, why would you expect us at all?”

“A person such as yourself would understand the value of the mountain now that Smaug has gone, so I assume that there is something in there which you desire enough to risk war. I therefore assume you want to use Dale as your base of operations as you take it by force and that this--” he indicated to the cart, “--is some sort of bribe. I must say, my Lord, that having spoken with Thorin I know that if you try to take it by force he will not go down without a fight. Already I must ask you, is what’s inside really more valuable than the lives your men? Or elves, I should probably say.”  He ended rather lamely.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion “I suspect that there is more to you than first there seems.” His keen gaze darted across to Tilda and she instinctively hid behind her da. Thranduil smirked as his eyes filled with a thousand plots and schemes. “Well then, I suggest we get a move on now that there is no pretext between us.” He swung down from his elk in a show of elegant power and walked out of the city gate, not bothering to tell him to follow.

Bard knelt down next to Tilda and whispered so as only she could hear. “Go find your sister and brother. Thranduil is not as honourable or noble as he seems. He’s given us aid but it is not out of the goodness of his heart, I know he is Legolas’ father, however I was there when Tauriel was banished from his realm, for reasons his guard would not say.” 

Tilda let out an involuntary gasp and began to protest on Tauriel’s behalf but Bard shushed her. “I know darling, I understand. Which is why I don’t want him to know everything that’s going on here.”

“But Da he needs to--”

“No Tilda. I told you, I don’t trust him with your secrets. He suspects too much already, I’m worried he’ll try and use you. I won’t let that happen, but the further away you are from him the better.”

“Da, what’s going on?” asked Sigrid, nervously walking towards him through the maze of elves, Bain following behind her as he gazed awestruck at them.

“The elf king has come to give us aid but that isn’t his main motive. He’s not a man to be trusted easily.”

“He’s not a man for one,” said Bain, staring nervously at the nearest elf as though they would leap forward and kill him at any moment. Which, reasoned Tilda, they were more than capable of.

“If he can’t be trusted then why are you going alone?” asked Sigrid.

“Because there are things we need to talk about and I’d rather do them in private.  No, I don’t want any arguments. Go back to the hall, help with the rationing and  _ don’t _ follow me.”

He gave them a stern look before striding after Thranduil, his shoulder set in the same determined posture he used when challenging the Master. Their da knew powerful men. He’d challenged and defeated powerful men. She knew that Thranduil wouldn’t scare him in the same way Thorin hadn’t. 

Her and her siblings watched him go, Sigrid wrapping her arms around Tilda’s shoulders.

“I can’t believe Da’s going to have a conference with the elven king,” Bain said with another note of awe. He’d always been an avid fan his mother’s stories of daring knights and elven warriors, and it seemed that he was finding it equal parts exhilarating and terrifying to be living in one such tale.

“Well he’s a Dragon Slayer now. I suspect a lot more people will be wanting to talk to him from here on,” said Sigrid carefully as she watched her father disappear towards a row of tents the elves were already putting up, seeming to lay their own uninvited claim to their people’s home. “You know I’m really starting to get where the dwarves are coming from…”  

“What are they going to be talking about, Tilda, do you know?” asked Bain, looking down at his sister. “What’s happening, why are they all here, is this, is this about you know… your...” he made a vague nervous hand gesture that made Sigrid roll her eyes. 

Tilda looked up at one of the elves nearest them. They were still staring straight ahead but Tilda spotted that the grip on their sword had tighten slightly at their words. Wary of what they might do, she swapped to Rohirric, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to understand it.

“ _ I, kind of-- I think, I think we need to know what’s happening… _ ”

“ _ You mean ignore what Da’s said and follow him anyway? _ ” 

“No! Of course not,” laughed Tilda in an obviously fake way to anyone who had a sense of humour, swapping back to the common tongue so as to fool the elves away from their plan. “We should listen to him and go back to the hall and help with the food. Just like we always do  _ exactly _ what Da tells us to do.”

A small smile etched across Sigrid’s face as she shared a look with Bain, having the kind of silent conversation that only happened between the closest of family.

“Alright then Tilly, you’re right. Let’s go back to the hall.” Sigrid nodded and led them back to the building. But of course they didn’t stay, what respectable young person would abandon their father to the will of an elven king? It was their  _ duty _ to run after him. They dodged through the crowds of people rushing around sorting out supplies, pushing Percy away by telling him they were running a task for their father and couldn’t stop to talk. Sigrid found a side exit and they snuck through, following the maze of streets as they headed towards the sight of the rows of golden fabric.

For a moment they feared being spotted by the elves preparing their war base, but were able to hide behind a wall until they passed. Then they darted out and ran towards the largest and most elegant of tents which was undoubtedly that of the elf king. There was no way a man who groomed his eyebrows and rode an elk into battle would give the biggest tent away to anyone who might actually make more use of it than him.

The siblings snuck up to the side of the tent and listened intently to what was going on inside. The fabric muffled their voice slightly but they could still just about make out what was being said.

“You would go to war over a few glorified stones?”

“The White Gems of Lasgalen are the heirlooms of my people, Bowman,” said Thranduil in disgust. “I leant them to Thrain in good faith and he betrayed that faith. In that moment he broke all bonds between us. I have no more pity for the dwarves than they do for me.”

“I would believe that if you had not at first travelled to give them aid before turning away, yes we in Laketown are well aware of the story. How you walked away from them in their time of need. You claim that you did not go to help because you were not willing to risk the lives of your people, yet you would do just that if it meant getting these gems. What’s changed?”

“There are thirteen dwarves and a halfling in that mountain. I do not think it would be much risk to my people.”

“You’re not answering my question,” countered their father. The siblings all shared a small smirk, recognising the tone he often used when questioning them on their own secrets. There was a pregnant pause before the elf king spoke again;

“They hold sentimental value as well. I requested Thrain turn the gems into a necklace for my wife, a token to show her my eternal love. She is no longer around to be given it.”

There was another pause, this time echoed by a solemnness that rose between Tilda’s brother and sister. Sigrid subconsciously pulled her siblings closer towards her, and Tilda glanced up at her, confused. But then her father began to speak again and it fell into place for her.

“My own wife died about eight years ago. Childbirth. I understand your loss, not a day goes by when I do not wish to see my Kendra again. But this is not how you deal with that loss. War is always something to be avoided. You can’t force others to go through the same pain as we have, especially not in the name of your beloved.”

“Do not pretend to know me, Mortal,” scoffed the elf. “All men die, it is the way of things. Do not put the life of my Elenath on the same level as your wife’s. Her death was inevitable, but Elenath should have been by my side till the remaking of the world. Those gems are the last trace of her I have and I shall reclaim that at all cost.” He punctuated his words with a sudden slam that made all three of them jump, as though a fist had been pound against the table.  

There was a loud pause, this one tenser than the last. Sigrid and Bain shared another nervous look, their father was clearly taking his time thinking how best to respond. He was not a man to act out of brash instinct (unless it came to protecting his children, then not even a rampaging troll could stop him).

“We have a claim upon the mountain as well,” their father said at last. “Thorin swore to us that he would give us a share of the gold in exchange to the help we gave him in Lake Town. I believe he would hon--”

 

_ I picked it up in Beorn’s garden _

_ You’ve carried it all this way? _

_ I’m going to plant it in my garden. In Bag End. _

_ It’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire. _

 

“—give up such a treasure. It is not the way of his kind.”

“I don’t care how unlikely it is, if there’s a chance to avoid a war than I would take it.”

Tilda blinked rapidly as she tried to orientate herself again. She might not be old enough to understand it yet, but there really was no mistaking that look in Thorin’s eye as anything but deep and all consuming love, greater than any sickness. No matter how ill he was, no matter how much a hold that ‘dragon sickness’ had on him; somewhere inside there was still the same dwarf she’d seen laughing with his nephews as they escorted traders; the same dwarf who would risk his life for the safety of those he loved; who valued loyalty and honour above all else. Whose capacity for love was greater than any other.

For how could a person who could look at another that way be beyond all hope and reason? She hesitated for a moment, listening further to Thranduil’s insistence of Thorin’s darkness before she couldn’t take it anymore. She dashed forward and rushed to the entrance to the tent, ignoring the whispered cries of her siblings.

“You’re wrong!” she shouted somewhat breathlessly. “You’re wrong your Highness, completely wrong, he’s not beyond hope. I know he’s not, I saw he’s not!”

“Matilda!” barked Bard in shock. “I told you to stay with your siblings.”

“Tilda come back here!” hissed Bain, running in after her, quickly followed by an exasperated looking Sigrid, who gave a small sarcastic wave of greeting.

“I see there really is no separating your family from you, is there?” said Thranduil, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I told them to stay away. Please forgive them, they were clearly not thinking straight, they’re only young after all.” His gaze flickered to Sigrid, clearly indicating that as the oldest she should know better but she just gave him a small shrug and an innocent smile.

“No. It’s quite alright.” Thranduil said coolly, focussing his gaze entirely on Tilda. She felt as if it went straight through her skin and to her very core. “Tell me, what did you see little girl? What makes you so certain that there is hope for Oakenshield?”

Thranduil’s words might have meant to make her feel small and insignificant, but thanks to Galadriel she found strength in them. She  _ was _ a little girl, and little girls had the fate of Arda in their hands. It was time she began to take on that responsibility. So she squared her shoulders and did her best to copy her da’s stance and confidence.

“I’m a Seer. A powerful one. Really powerful, the things I see come true.” Bard let out an exasperated sigh and buried his head in his hands. Bain shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and it seemed that only Sigrid supported her bluntness about her abilities. She stepped forward to place her hands on her sister’s shoulders, squeezing them slightly. She glared down the elven king, challenging him to dare hurt her baby sister when she was being so brave.

“I’m the one who saw you coming with the cabbages which was kind of mean because I’m sure you have nicer stuff in your kitchen, because I always see you eating loads of yummy food for dinner. More than you can actually eat I bet.”

Thranduil raised a perfect eyebrow but did nothing to interrupt her.

“That doesn’t really matter though because I had a vision a second ago, and so I know that there’s still hope for Thorin! He was looking at Bilbo and, and I know that look because it’s the one Da gets when he’s talking about Ma and I bet it’s the one you get when you talk of your wife and if someone can love like that, I mean, I don’t know how that works but, but I think that means there’s a chance he’ll listen.”

She looked over to her da, silently begging for his approval and was relieved to see his grinning face.

“Well then, Thranduil,” began her father. “As far as I’m concerned that settles it. I’ll ride out to meet him. See if I can’t get him to see reason and give us the gold he owes us. Then we can look into getting your wife’s gems. If that fails then I guess we’ll only have the one real option.” He glanced at his children nervously, eyes seeking an apology for the battle he was considering to risk in the name of gold. But they could not rely on the aid of the elves for long, they’d need money if they wanted to rebuild the city and keep their people safe.

“Fine then,” sighed Thranduil. “Go now before it gets dark. I’ll see that your children are well looked after.”

Despite his words, Tilda could not shake the idea that this was the same man who’d banished Tauriel, their rescuer and friend, for no real reason what-so-ever. Sigrid must have felt the same as she was quickly muttering her thanks to the king and apologies for disturbing them before whisking them away, followed quickly by their father.

When they were far enough out of earshot from the elves Bard rounded on them.

“That was incredibly foolish of you all. Sigrid, I expected far better of you.”

“I’m not about to let you go into a conference with a king unguarded and unprotected Da! You can’t cut us out of these decisions, you’ve never done that before and I won’t let you do it now.”

Bain gave a cry of agreement at Sigrid’s words and Tilda nodded firmly as well, crossing her arms in challenge. Bard ran an exasperated hand down his face

“This isn’t the same as talking about what we’re going to have for dinner or whether we should sell our furniture to pay for repairs, or even deciding if we’re going to start smuggling. The decisions I make now impact more than just us.”

“All the more reason to not do them alone.”

“I’m not alone, I have Percy, Madge… other people.”

“Da, whether you like it or not we’re staying with you,” said Bain fiercely.

“And you need me more than anyone else,” added Tilda. “You promised me you were going to help with the stuff I had to do, and if you’re going to help me you can’t leave me out. You  _ promised _ .”

Bard let out another sigh and walked forward to grasp the three of them in a tight hug. “You’re all right. I’m sorry, it’s been… it’s been a rather intense couple of days, hasn’t it?”

“You could say that again,” snorted Sigrid.

“It’s been a rather intense couple of days, hasn’t it?” mimicked Bain and the four of them were laughing again like they did when it was just the four of them sitting round the kitchen table, sharing stories from their day.

Bard looked up and gave a slight start, instinctively drawing his children nearer to him. Thranduil had appeared as if out of thin air, with none of them even sensing his approach. The elf was staring curiously at them, and once again Tilda felt unnerved by him. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, it was all taking place deep behind his eyes. She really wanted to think that he was a good person, and was actually only after the gems because of his love for Elenath – but there was still a darkness to him that didn’t sit right with her.

“Come now Dragon Slayer, leave your brood behind. You have work to do I believe.” He signalled to an elf who promptly brought over a horse.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve ridden,” said their da with a slight nervousness to his voice. Tilda knew that he’d helped teach Sigrid and Bain how to ride in Rohan, when they’d gone to visit their mother’s family; however they’d not been back in Tilda’s lifetime. Their cousins now always came to visit them instead as Bard could never spare the time away from work if he wanted to keep food on the table.

As such, Tilda’d never seen an Actual Real Life horse before and couldn’t help but wander forward to take a closer look. She gently reached out a hand towards the creature and nervously stroked its flank. Its hair was surprisingly soft and silky, the smell of it comforting in a way she’d not expected from such a large and powerful animal. At first the horse didn’t respond and Tilda backed away from it but as she did it twisted its head round to gently nuzzle at her. Tilda let giggled as she wrapped her arms around its neck, the elf holding its reins giving a small smile at her enthusiasm.

“What’s their name?” she asked excitedly, the Rohirrim in her coming through as her siblings also took an excited step forward. Just like Bard, they’d not had a chance to get this close to a horse in seven years, something their aunt regularly referred to as a ‘crime against nature’. Tilda could tell from her sibling’s faces that they too found the act inherently comforting, reminding them of their mother and her love for the creatures.

“Her name is Silivren,” replied the elf. “It means ‘Glittering White’ in the language of our people.”

Tilda scoffed at that.  “Well that’s a silly name, everyone  _ knows _ horses aren’t  _ actually _ white. They’re all grey! Auntie Éostefna told me that and her name means ‘horse speaker’ in the language of  _ her _ people, so she  _ obviously  _ knows more than you do.”

The elf hesitated unsure how to respond, clearly not being all that experienced in the ways of children.

“I think she look more like a Snowy to me,” continued Tilda, nodding thoughtfully as her family all suppressed another fit of giggles. The horse, forever now known as Snowy, nudged her hand again and she smiled triumphantly.

“See, Snowy likes that name, don’t you?” she giggled

“Surely snow is white as well, Miss Tilda,” asked Thranduil curiously. “The name still falls short of your own parameters.”

Tilda frowned “What’s ‘para-meters’ mean?”

“Your own rules,” explained Sigrid. “You can’t call Snowy ‘Snowy’ because snow’s white and, as you correctly said, horses aren’t white.”

“Snow’s not always white though? Sometimes it looks blue and at night it’s more grey anyway and in the morning it’s orange and it looks yellow when--”

“Alright Tilda, I think it’s time you left Snowy alone,” said her da, steering her away with an expert hand. He took a breath and hoisted himself up onto Snowy, taking a moment to settle himself in the saddle before taking a firmer hold of the reins and steering them out towards the main gate. Tilda jogged alongside him, asking a hundred questions and begging him to be careful. She knew that there was still hope for Thorin, but that still didn’t make her worry that something bad was going to happen anyway. She couldn’t shake the image of her father standing there on the battlefield as Thorin declared war on them all…

True to his word, Thranduil saw that her and her siblings were looked after and escorted them up to the top of the city walls so as they could see what was happening. His eyesight was incredibly keen, and he was able to tell exactly what was happening. Bard was granted permission to talk to Thorin, an act that in itself surprised the elf king, who’d half expected him to be shot on sight. He smirked to himself as Bard slammed his fist into the wall and cantered away on Snowy.

Tilda did not need the eyes of an elf to see what happened next. With a thunderous rumble that reminded her of the dragon, the giant stone dwarf decorating the mountain collapsed, blocking the entrance. It seemed as though nobody would be able to get in or out any time soon.

“Well, that was at least somewhat diverting,” mused Thranduil, as he swept away from them without a second glance. “Oh, and Captain,” he said, turning to a nearby elf, “prepare your soldiers for battle. We attack at dawn.”  

Tilda leant her head against Sigrid as she put a comforting arm around her. It had been Tilda’s first real chance to change things and yet somehow she’d messed it all up. How could she save them if they didn’t want to be saved? How could she prevent a war everyone seemed so eager to fight?

_ Avo lastog Thranduil. E balfaug belegaras adh taur fast, a adh adar. Olya aryalye sena.  Tilda, gi mellonig an-uir.   _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Don’t listen to Thranduil. He is a drunken elk with bad hair. He is an awful father. Tilda, you are my friend for eternity. 
> 
> This wasn’t actually quite what I wanted to say but weirdly the book my mum got me for Christmas on Tolkien’s languages, and the combined sources on the internet aren’t as good as Dwarrow Scholar’s documents on Khuzdul…
> 
> So for those Interested the khuzdul for this would be:
> 
> Lô ihbir Thranduil. Hu zi’al shâlakugthalu mekshar ya zanât gurdâ. Hu olshir mabakh. Nê inthir astu makhebebsi thatrulkhuf.
> 
> Do not listen to Thranduil. He is only an elk with bad hair who can’t handle their drink. He has zero parenting skills. Never forget you were forged in starlight.
> 
>  
> 
> Take from all this what you will.


	11. More Than a Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Every Monday should by Internet Co-Oporate =)
> 
> Remember to check out mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv for news/updates regarding the fic as well as Bonus Chapter Aesthetics ^__^

Tilda sat glumly on the steps of the town hall, her head rested in her hands as she vaguely watched the soldiers preparing for war. Sigrid had tried to persuade her to help out, or to at least go and play with the other children who had all been shepherded into one place by Hilda Bianca. However Tilda didn’t exactly feel like being glared at and blamed for everything that was going wrong. People were treating her and her siblings differently now that their da was in charge, but that was mainly amongst the adults. The children had not yet forgotten about the freak who could have seen all of this coming and done something to prevent it.

And that was the problem! She could have done something. She’d  _ tried _ to do something and it hadn’t gotten them anywhere! Thorin had still been too sick to see reason and her da had been unable to get through to him, and now it seemed they were all going to war as a result.

Galadriel really had picked the wrong person to help save them…

“You there, who’s in charge?” asked a gruff voice, and Tilda glanced up for a second to see who was talking. Alfrid was coming down the steps to yell at the newcomer but before he could get a word out Tilda was already shrieking with excitement and racing towards their arrival, feeling hope flood back into her at the very sight of him.

“Mithrandir! You’re alright! I was so worried about you, you were all shaky and pale and Galadriel said you were weak and she’s de-min-ished but you’re alright! You’re alright!” she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of the wizard.

To his credit, Mithrandir didn’t try to pry her off of him, too used to the enthusiastic attentions of hobbit children. Though usually they could only reach his knees. He patted her fondly on the head, the rage and panic in him died down.

“It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Young Madam. You know my name but I do not know yours.”

Tilda, looked up at him, still clinging tightly to his waist “I’m Tilda and you’re Mithrandir or  Gandalf  because that’s what the dwarves called you but Galadriel always called you Mithrandir so can I call you that too?”

“Of course my Dear.” Smiled the wizard “You may call me whatever you like, a friend of Galadriel’s is a friend of mine. Though I am curious as to how you know her… she has not travelled to Dale in several life times.”

“Um, well I’m not allowed to say in front of other people,” she glanced meaningfully at Alfrid, who was watching them with cat like curiosity, “but if you want to see Da then we can talk about it then.”

“I’m afraid that might have to wait then, Young Tilda. As I said, I am in desperate need of speaking with your leader, you see this battle you’re preparing for, there’s--”

“--more to it, I _know_! I _told_ you.” She sighed dramatically. “Galadriel already explained to me all about Sauron!”

“Well no you didn’t actually tell--” he protested as Tilda took him by the hand and marched him off to the tent where her Da and Thranduil were preparing for the battle. A battle Mithrandir and her were going to put a stop to! Galadriel wouldn’t have sent him to her if he  _ wasn’t _ meant to be taking control of things now. He was a wizard! What harm could come to them if they had a wizard on their side? He’d probably won hundreds of battles in his time.

“Daaaaa!” she called as she barged into the tent. “Mithrandir’s here and he’s going to sort everything out. He promised.”

“I never actually promised anything.” Mumbled Mithrandir, glancing around the tent at the bemused expressions of the two leaders, his keen gaze taking in her father from head to foot, as though trying to judge what kind of man he was. Tilda looked up at him too, and saw a bemused smirk she’d been told looked just like hers.

“Ah Mithrandir, what a predictable surprise to see you here today,” Thranduil said, not bothering to get up from his seat. “I see you’ve already been acquainted with our resident Seer. She is apparently  _ very _ powerful.” He smiled, pouring another goblet of wine. He made as if to pass it to Mithrandir but at the last minute thrust it into Bard’s surprised hands. The wizard gave out a gruff huff of exasperation, cursing Orophion’s line for their flare for the dramatic.

“Careful. That’s my daughter you’re talking about,” warned Bard, setting the drink down and walking over to her. “And you forget, she still predicted the events correctly, it was me who failed to get him to see sense. I was the one at fault through all this.”

Thranduil waved away his sentence “No, all of that was Oakenshield’s problem. And I should say that there is no shame, Miss Tilda, in not being as  _ powerful _ or as  _ knowledgeable _ as the elves. We have so much more experience in these issues.” His grin was dagger sharp and held none of the kindness usually associated with the gesture.

“My Lord Thranduil,” sighed Mithrandir, trying to draw their attention back to more important matters. “There is a war coming. Sauron is amassing an army of orcs led by Azog the Defiler. They will arrive any day now. We need to go and bargain with Thorin, form an alliance before it is too late.”

“And how do you know any of this?” asked Thranduil casually. “Why would they show their hand now? Have you spoken to Sauron yourself of late? Or is this all part of Galadriel’s Gossip Chain?”

“Mithrandir was there when he came back!” Piped up Tilda. “Yesterday in Gul Dol Door, there were these ghosts and then they tried to kill the others and then he arrived and Galadriel sent him back to the ‘void from whence he came’ but the White Wizard Man went after him but he is definitely back! I know it’s all true because I was there as well. Da said not to say anything because he thought we couldn’t trust you.”  Bard let out another exasperated sigh, muttering something about lessons in diplomacy which Tilda chose ignore. “I saw Sauron and, and he is coming back so we should probably just do whatever Mithrandir says.” She nodded, looking expectantly up at the wizard.

“You were there?” frowned Mithrandir curiously. “I do not recall seeing you… I know I was not in the best of states but even I would have noticed a seven year old child in Dol Guldur”

“Seven and three-quarters” she corrected automatically. “And I was sort of there and sort of not there. I was in Galadriel mind or, she was in mine or… I’m not sure because Siggy said that I was still there but it looked like I was having a vision so…” she trailed off.

“Tilda, back to the point in hand,” gently prompted her father.

“Right, yes, sorry,” apologised Tilda. “Um, but, so, basically Mithrandir is right and there is a war coming and we need to all work together to stop it from happening but I don’t know how because I’m not a Wizard but he is so, you know,” she shrugged, as if that explained everything there was to say on the matter.

Thranduil looked up at Mithrandir with an amused, mocking expression on his face. “Come now Mithrandir, surely even you understand that there is no guaranteed time line on these apparent visions of mortals. Galadriel has always had a flare for the dramatic, I personally blame Nenya, though she bares it well I would find it illogical that such a long exposure to a ring of power can not have addled her brain slightly.” His eyes drifted to the one on Mithrandir’s hand and then back up again, the same smirk on his face. “So excuse me if I would rather focus on the matter at hand rather than any potential futures that may or may not happen. I am an elf of the Greenwood after all, not of Rivendel.”

“My lord,” began Bard with a put-upon sigh. “Whether Sauron comes back in a week or in a decade, it does not matter. I believe Mithrandir, we need to try once more to find a peaceful solution. Let us join with the mountain sooner rather than later, before we all live to regret our decisions.”

“Oh because trying to reason with the dwarf worked so well the last time?” laughed Thranduil. “What do you have to bargain with now that you did not have before?”

“Well for a start there’s this!” said a voice that made everyone jump, even Thranduil, though he did his best to hide it.

“Well, if I am not mistaken this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeon from my guards.” he said, schooling his face back to it’s usual air of ice cool superciliousness. Bilbo shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, his previous confident stance chipped away slightly at being called out for his role in the dwarves’ escape.

“Yeeeesssssss, sorry about that. I came to- _ ouff _ ” he puffed as Tilda rushed towards him to engulf him in a fierce hug.

“Bilbo! I knew you wouldn’t leave us! I knew you would be able to make Thorin understand what was happening. You came to tell us he’s going to give it all back to us because he loves you and you made him realise that there’s good in the world or something like in one of Madge’s lovey-dovey books!”

“I, well I mean, I--” stammered Bilbo, uncertain how to react. “I wouldn’t go that far I, he’s a-- Gandalf, a little help please?”

Mithrandir was chuckling, his eyes glittering with mischief as he peeled Tilda away from him. “Come now Tilda, let the poor hobbit talk. You came with news from the mountain?”

“Right yes well,” coughed Bilbo, his large ears blushing bright red. “I came to give you this.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a large object and placed it on the table, carefully unfolding the fabric that covered it. Everyone took a deep breath as they took in the sparkling white jewel, which seemed to swirl and shimmer with the same deep magic Tilda had felt in Lothlorien. It was undoubtedly the gem she’d seen Bilbo carrying down from the mountain in her vision, and once again she began to worry that everything was still as hopeless as before. If Bilbo had had to smuggle this out of there at such risk to himself, then what did that say about Thorin’s state of mind?

Thranduil stared at the stone in awe, taking a step closer to examine it. “The heart of the mountain. The King’s jewel…”

“--and worth a King’s ransom,” said Bard, finishing Thranduil’s thought. “How is this yours to give?” he asked, turning to Bilbo with a look of distrust.

“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure,” replied Bilbo, somewhat gravely. Mithrandir looked on with the same look of sad understanding that Tilda felt within her. This was what it had come to for the hobbit, for her friend, to have to lie and sneak his way out of the mountain in the hope that he might be able to save the lives of those he cared about, even at the risk of losing Thorin’s trust forever more.

“Why do you do this?” asked Bard, glancing back at the hobbit in confusion. “You owe us no loyalty.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Bilbo said firmly. “I know dwarves can be obtuse; and arrogant; and pig-headed; and difficult; and suspicious; and secretive.” His face got grimmer as he listed their failings, clearly thinking up supportive examples for each. “With the worst manners imaginable. But,” he continued, his eyes becoming softer and sadder, “they are also brave; and kind; and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them; and I will help them if I can.”

He coughed, standing straight once more as if shaking off his emotions. “Now Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war.”

Thranduil and Bard exchanged looks, as if silently deciding together if Bilbo could be trusted. Tilda looked between them as they seemed to come to a final decision.

“Very well. In the morning we converge on the mountain. If Thorin is to be reasoned with then you, Bard, will have your gold and I Ellenath’s gems. If not, then, well. What’s thirteen dwarves to an army?”

“Do not underestimate them. They would fight to the death to defend their own,” said Bilbo fiercely, taking a step towards the stone, as if already regretting his decision to give it to them.

“I assure you, I know that all too well, Master Hobbit.” placated Bard. “I have no desire for war, either today or in the times to come. If the stone does not make him see reason, then at least with an army we have a chance of taking the mountain, before anybody else can.”

“But, but what about Azog?” asked Tilda, coming up to grasp at her father’s sleeve. “He’s still coming isn’t he? What if Thorin doesn’t want the stone or, or gets the stone but still declares war? What happens then?” she whispered, looking up at him with large pleading eyes.

“It will not come to that Tilda, I am certain of it,” he said reassuringly, kneeling down so as they were on the same level. “That stone is the whole reason Thorin has come here. He risked a very dangerous journey and the wrath of a dragon to get it, I cannot see why he would refuse our offer if it meant he was able to posses it once more. He will trade us the money owed in exchange for the stone, and from there we can broker a lasting peace. You can tell Thorin yourself of what is to come and then you will have done your duty, and you won’t ever have to worry about this ever again.”

Tilda looked up into the brown eyes that were so much like her own and nodded firmly. Her father was right. He was always right. This might not be what she had hoped for, it might not be the hugging and cheering conclusion of fairy tales, where peace was sorted out through words, but this bargain made sense. If the stone was as valuable as people said it was, then surely that would be enough?

“Well then, I mean, if you’re sure then I guess--”

 

_ A long expected party. Hundreds of Dwarf made Presents. Food. Music. Good Cheer. A long and merry life. _

 

“Tilda?” asked her Da tentatively, “is everything alright?”

Tilda blinked rapidly and looked over at where Bilbo was having words with Gandalf. One Hundred and Eleven Years-Old the banner had said, and he’d looked so excited to be there too, drinking with his family and laughing with his friends. Surely that could only be a good sign? Surely people couldn’t fake that kind of happiness?

“Yes Da, I’m alright. You’re right. It’s going to work out just fine. I know it for sure.” 

 


	12. Heirs of Girion, Children of Rohan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll explain in the End Notes in more detail, however I'm not going to be able to update for a little while as I need to focus on my upcoming deadlines! 
> 
> I'll be back as soon as the term is over, for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I've put links to some stuff below that might help see you through in the interim ;)

Bard and Thranduil left early in the morning to go and speak to Thorin. It had been quite the sight, her da looking noble and wise sat astride Snowy with the elf king by his side, resplendent in silver, his elk as magnificent as ever. They were flanked by fleet of golden clad elves, as well as a small band of their neighbours armed with dusty spears. Next to the elves, the refugees of Laketown seemed as weak and impoverished as ever, and if Tilda really thought a war was going to happen she'd have been worried for their lives. But that wasn’t going to happen, her da had assured her on that one.

Bain didn’t seem too keen to believe him though. He’d wanted to go with them, to stand by his father's side in battle and do his best to defend him. Bain’s assurances that he was more than willing to die if it meant keeping his father safe were met with solid refusals from both Bard and Sigrid. Just because he was willing to die, didn't mean they were willing to lose him. Thus he had been charged with remaining to help keep his sisters out of trouble. Not that Bain had ever been any good at that task, but Tilda thought it important to, once again, help keep up the premise.

 As such, she suggested that they go and explore what they could of the city. There was a lot to see and if they were going to make this their new home then it was vital to know where all the secret passageways and hiding places were. She'd suggested a game of Hide and Seek, however Sigrid had forbidden it outright. She wasn't coming with them, needing to stay and help Percy oversee things in her father's stead, however Sigrid had an uncanny ability to know exactly when they’d gone against her orders. Her siblings (and indeed father) had long since learnt the folly of 'awakening the dragon’.

 They'd begun by simply walking around the circumference of the town hall, having fun spotting all the little detailed carvings put in place during the city's glory days. Each street began with a small statue of a different animal. The street that lead to the town hall was marked with a friendly looking pig, the street opposite that an eagle and the one next to that a donkey, and so on and so forth. There were also street names carved underneath these but Tilda had never been very good at her letters and so decided to just stick with the animals as markers.

 They just passed a magnificent stone goat when they came to what was undoubtedly the old market square. The wooden structures of the shops had all been mercilessly burnt down during the firestorm, but there was still a clear space where the stone was less weathered to show where they may have once been. Carvings on the walls helped indicate what had once been on offer. There was a bakers which seemed to sell the same kind of loaves as the one back in Laketown; a tea stall with an elegant teapot decorated in the same patterns as Madge's had been, and a sweet shop that looked as if it had sold sweets from all over Arda!

 They were not the only ones out exploring, with plenty of other people curious to re-discover the city's secrets. Tilda was really starting to see how this really could be a home for them all. Which was, of course, when the troll attacked.

Their first warning was a distant rumble that seemed to reverberate around the city walls. Tilda felt Brain’s hand slip into hers as the pair of them froze solid as the shaking stone surrounding them. The shouts of panic warning them to run finally kicked in and they began to, hands griped tight to one another. There was a noise like thunder, a crashing roar so different to the dragon’s but just as terrifying. They came to a turning in the street which lead back to the hall but found it surrounded by orcs, cutting down their friends and neighbours with such glee in their yellowed eyes that it filled Tilda with a panic like white lighting.

“Tilda hurry!” screeched Bain, dragging her away from the sight, moving faster than she thought possible. The walls were collapsing before them now, stone debris falling everywhere as massive looming trolls with weapons for hands smashed their way through. She couldn't help but screech at the sight of it and instantly regretted her instinctive mistake. 

The troll locked eyes with her and a gruesome smirk came over its gnarled face. It staggered towards them, dragging its mace behind it. She felt Bain pull her behind him, panting breathless stammering reassurances as he backed them up against the wall.

There was no escape. 

This was their end and after everything, this was it. Their prophecies had been fulfilled. Tilda had sent her father to save Durin’s line and Bain had helped slay the dragon. The Valar had no more use for them. 

Tears trickled down her face as she clung to her brother, whispering pleas that someone would save them. That Galadriel had not abandoned her after all she’d done...

The beast was about to raise its weapon in a final blow that would kill them instantly when something made it halt and turn around. An elvish arrow had been shot through its ear, not enough to do much damage but enough to cause it to pause for a second to process what was happening. Another and another were fired into the side of its head and it began to roar in confused pain, turning away from the siblings to take on its new foe. It stomped towards the archer, growling as it lifted its mace; however it had simply given the attacker a better target, and an arrow finally found its mark, spearing it through its large single eye. The troll staggered backwards, grasping at it and attempting to pull it out but its hands were too large to get a decent grip, breaking the shaft but leaving the tip inside.

“Run!” cried Sigrid as she let off another arrow, this one glancing across the troll’s cheek. “For fucks sake, Bain, run!” she bellowed at the pair of them who were still stood paralysed with fear against the wall. She was down to her last arrow but held it steady, waiting to see what the beast would do next. Tilda felt Bain grab her and they raced towards Sigrid, ducking low to avoid the falling stone debris caused by the troll’s wild movements.  

Sigrid kept her eyes fixed on the troll and ready to react to any further threat, waiting until her siblings were behind her before charging after them. She shouted at them to hurry, to get back to the safety of the hall where they were already setting up a barricade against the orcs. The streets were overrun with them, and it wasn't long before Sigrid was forced to let loose her last arrow, spearing an orc in the arm and forcing it to drop its sword. They pounded the street, passing by bloodied and slashed bodies with Sigrid telling them to ignore them, to keep on going and never look back.

 “We're almost there,” she cried, running off of adrenaline. “We can do this come on!”

 Tilda felt Bain tighten his grip on her hand as he urged her onwards, but the streets were cobbled and in her haste she didn’t have a chance to look where she was going. Her foot caught one of the stones and she fell tumbling down, landing hard on the floor and taking Bain down with her. They landed in a heap, Tilda on the bottom, Bain’s weight knocking all the air out of her. Bain scrambled to his feet first, but Tilda didn’t move.

 Her knees and hands were stinging with pain and there was blood seeping through her dress. It hurt and she just wanted to sit there and cry but what was the point in crying? She screwed her eyes shut and wrapped herself up into a ball, not wanting to move any further. She was tired and hurt and what was the point in even getting up? The orcs were coming for them, there were still trolls rampaging across the town and the noise of fear was still ringing out across the city like a death toll. She heard Sigrid growl as the now useless bow and quiver clattered to the ground. Then she felt herself being forcibly picked up off the ground and unceremoniously thrown over her sister’s shoulder.

 “We've come too far to end this now,” grunted Sigrid, urging Bain ahead of them, “Come on Tilly. This isn’t the end alright? You remember your vision yes?” she said huffing as her feet pounded the ground. “Your first vision. About the three of us in the garden?” Tilda nodded and sniffed. “Well that’s still to come for you. That’s going to happen but it won’t if you give up, alright?” she puffed, repositioning Tilda on her shoulder as they kept on running. “My belly and Bain’s robes and the birds on the wall.”

 She was right of course, Tilda’d had so many visions over the years that she’d almost forgotten all about her first one. But she could recall it clear as day now. The peace of it, the summer sky and the bright green grass of a garden nobody in Laketown had ever known. Sigrid smiling and laughing, Bain playing with someone she knew they all loved unconditionally. That vision was her certainty. She had that coming for her and it was something worth holding on for, no matter what became of the line of Durin.

 They finally reached the main road, the hall in sight at last. Tilda felt Sigrid pause for a moment to catch her breath. She still refused to put Tilda back down, clearly worried that if she let her go she'd never see her again. Bain stood by the corner of the street, looking out for danger. Suddenly his eyes seemed to light out and he was crying out in joy.

 “Da! Da! Over here Da!” he cheered, waving towards him. Sigrid let go of Tilda and the three of them raced into the embrace of their father. He was crying himself, kissing them on the foreheads and repeating over and over again that he was so grateful that they were still alive.

 “Are you all alright? Are any of you hurt?” he asked, a look of dread filled his face as he caught sight of Tilda's grazed hands and bleeding knee, dropping to the floor to get a closer look at her.

 “We're all alright.” Said Bain, “she just fell over but Sigrid saved us! She hit a troll square in the eye with an elvish arrow and then took on an orc too!” He explained, looking up in awe at his sister.

 “I only did what you would have done,” blushed Sigrid, wiping a spot of orc blood off of her shirt, “but we need to get back to the hall. We'll all be safe there.” She looked determined, forcing herself to believe it. Bard looked up from where he was examining Tilda and gave Sigrid a sad smile.

 “You’re right, Cariad.  But I can't come with you.”

 “What?” she replied “What no, come on Da, you've done enough already!”

 “We’re not leaving you.” Bain said firmly, grabbing him by the arm.

 “Please, just go to the hall. I need you to be safe,” sighed Bard, completely broken. “I need to know you're going to be alright.”

 “Then come with us!” Tilda begged.

 “You know I can't.” He explained as he brushed her hair behind her ear, “People are frightened and don’t know what to do. They need a leader more than ever otherwise who’ll help defend you all? We can't give up hope just yet.” He smiled but in his eyes Tilda saw the lies he was telling himself. “Go, now. Stick together. Do what you need to do to survive.”

 He pressed a sword into Bain's hand. The pummel looked too big in them, the blade almost coming up to his shoulder. Yet his fingers automatically found the perfect position, his stance altering just a tad to echo that which his ma had taught him. Tilda remembered his stories of wooden swords and summer air. Bain had talked of them as if they were only fun pretend games, but it was becoming clear to Tilda that her ma had been passing down as much knowledge as she could. Preparing her children for what she knew the future had in store.

 “Come on you two,” Bain said as he squared his shoulders and put on a determined expression. Bard gave Sigrid a pleading look, mouthing an explanation about how Bain needed to feel useful. Sigrid just nodded, taking Tilda's hand and pulling her away.

Percy's distant shouts grew louder, crying a warning of another troll on the rampage. The last she saw of her father was him running full speed towards the danger.

 That was when the headache started, a relentless pounding in her brain that would not go away. Her eyes felt like they were dragging her skull to the ground. Her legs were going to give in and shatter at any moment. Her stomach twisted about inside of her. Every sound and colour was attacking her and all she could do was give in and let the throbbing ache take her down, down, down…

 

_A pain like you could never imagine. Eclipsing all physical ache. Kìli. Hopeless. Kìli. Trapped. Kìli. Grief beyond understanding. Tauriel._

 

Sigrid's arms were wrapped tight around her, shielding her with her whole body. She looked up to see Bain standing before her, a look of incredulous shock on his pale face, now splattered with thick black blood. The sword was held limply at his side, an afterthought to all that had happened whilst Tilda was out.

 “Are you okay Tilly?” he croaked, kneeling down to look her in the eye. Tilda nodded, and began to pry herself away from her sister's grip. The pain in the vision was still a part of her, a feeling deep inside that she knew would never heal. It was a pain of the heart, of the soul and it had filled every single second of that moment like a deep unweilding fog. It was emanating from them both, and struck deep into Tilda’s soul. There had been tears in Kíli’s eyes as he died, not from the blade that had pierced him through, but from a great sense of failure that radiated from his every fibre. He had failed to protect his brother and now he had failed to protect the woman he loved, and he feared that she would soon follow him into death. Tilda saw it in Tauriel’s eyes too. She was broken, emotions she’d only just been beginning to understand laid bare before her in their rawest form. It felt worse than the fear of the troll, worse than the sight of the orcs, worse than the heat dragon fire...

 She ran.

 Wrenching herself out of Sigrid's grip she headed flat out to where fate needed her to be. Sigrid was shouting after her with the same panic Tilda had felt in Dol Guldur. But she had to ignore it. Galadriel's voice was yelling in her head, encouraging her to keep moving and to forget the screams of battle erupting in the distance; to focus on her destination and not the familiar faces of corpses.

 She turned a corner and saw them; standing off against one another.

 “STOP! JUST STOP WAIT PLEASE!” she bellowed.

 Tauriel's gaze flicked away from Thranduil for a second, confused at Tilda's words but her fury still evident in every nerve. The grip on her bow was as tight as ever, the string so taut that Tilda feared it would snap from the strain. When she spoke it was clipped with barely controlled anger.

 "This does not need concern you Tilda. Go back to the hall where you will be safe. Leave this snake to me."

 Thranduil smirked at her words, the grip on his blade tightening, readying to draw it in the blink of an eye.

 "It does though!” gulped Tilda, her heart was beating against her ribcage as a mix of panic and adrenaline coursed through her. “It's about all of us and you need to go and save him. He needs you right now, there's no time to waste. We need to hurry!"

 The tension on Tauriel’s bow slackened a little as she turned her head to face her.

 "What do you mean, who's in danger?"

 "Kíli!  And Fíli too, probably. They're up on Raven Hill. It's happening now, everything I’ve seen, it’s happening now! Please, please you have to save them!" Tilda tugged on Tauriel's arm, trying to pull her away.

 "Oh I see how it is," simpered Thranduil. "You see, this little girl _claims_ to be a Seer. She thinks that your _Nogoth_ is going to die on that hill, well let her believe it. It’ll come true soon enough, today, tomorrow a hundred years from now, what difference does it make? Let her have her moment, their lives are of no more concern to me.”

 Tauriel let out a disbelieving laugh as she lowered her bow in disgust. "You would disregard the gifts of a child simply to justify your own cowardice?"

 The air hissed at how quick Thranduil was to move his blade to Tauriel’s throat "I am no coward," he growled "Do not mistake my love for my people as anything else. I swore to protect their lives, for the sake of their own families, their own children. I will not spill a single more drop of their blood for the sake of mortals."

 " _Dauer Adar_ ," came Legolas' voice, his own blade coming down on top of Thranduil’s. "If you wish to hurt Tauriel then you shall have to go through me first.”

 "And me!" shouted Bain, panting as he and Sigrid finally appeared,

 "Tilda what are you doing! Never _ever_ run off like that again,” cried her sister, hugging her so tight she practically lifted her off the ground. Tilda did not have time for any of this though, up on that hill were her friends and they were in trouble, far more than they could realise. She'd already seen Kíli die.  She knew the mere memory of that heartbreak would stay with her until her own death, and she would be damned if she was going to let anyone else feel like that. She shoved Sigrid away telling her off for fussing and immediately regretted it at the sound of Sigrid’s confused hurt.

 "Tilda... what are you doing?" asked Bain, looking just as concerned. There was a hint of anger in his voice as well, and it made Tilda feel like she was betraying them.

 "We need to go to Raven Hill," she said, addressing Legolas. "As fast as we can."

 "Why do we need to go to Raven Hill? Is that where the _Nogoth_ is?"

 "Yes obviously!" huffed Tilda. How could none of these people understand just how urgent all of this was? "You have a horse right? Let's just go already!" She grasped the elves by the arms and started to try to drag them away. Legolas spared his father one final look before turning his back on him for good. Thranduil looked as if he was going to try and stop them but said nothing in the end, instead begging to march his men out of the city and away the fallen bodies of their brothers and sisters.

 "Tilda what are you doing?" asked Sigrid again, forcibly pulling her away from Tauriel and turning her around to face her. Her grip on Tilda's shoulder was so tight she thought it might bruise.

 Bain glanced between his sisters and the elves, "Wait you can't actually be thinking about going up there with them?"

 Tilda nodded and began to move back towards the waiting horse but Tauriel blocked her path. "Tilda I do not think it wise for you to come with us," she said gently. "Your siblings are right, it is far too dangerous. You've done so much already. Let us handle it from here."

Tilda let out a groan of frustration at the sheer stubbornness of adults.

 "Look, all of you, I'm the one who knows where they are. If we're going to save them we need to move quickly and that means trusting me for a change. I know the quickest route, I know I do. There's something saying where they are, I can't explain it but--"

 "Your gift," said Bain quietly, "of course." All the fight was gone from within him, no longer able to deny the importance of his sister’s visions.

 "Well then I'm coming too," said Sigrid firmly, stalking over to pull herself up onto the horse Legolas was already seated upon, however Bain held her back from moving any closer

 "Be realistic Sig, you'll never all fit on one horse, and you’ll only slow them down. You have to let her do this without us."

 "What?" she snapped. “You can't possibly think I'm letting her go alone?!"

 "She's not alone though," Bain replied, his calm at odds with Sigrid's panic. "She's had a vision. She's got two elves to keep her safe and the Valar have chosen her. I don't think they'll--"

 Sigrid let out a scream of rage that made the horse jump, almost throwing a startled looking Legolas.

 "Fuck the Valar! I don't give a fuck about Eru or visions or destinies! You were right Bain. This is the end of it. Right here. They took our Ma away, they destroyed our home, fuck, they even sent orcs when we needed aid. I will not let them take our little sister too. No." She was gulping back tears now. "This is enough. No more. I forbid it."

 Tilda stared open mouthed and motionless. She'd never seen Sigrid like this before. It was like her sister was splitting at the seams as everything that made her up burst and fell apart.

 

_Nethlin pannant ah gorga ar sa bain, ach telyalin hen muda heria. Tilda beren ah aphad gûrlin._

 

"I'm sorry Siggy," said Tilda, shaking her head. She reached her arms up and Tauriel silently picked her up and placed her onto Legolas' lap before swinging up herself. Sigrid stood where she was, frozen solid, so many emotions running across her that her body seemed unable to process anything else. Tilda looked over Legolas' arm as they cantered away, Sigrid getting smaller and smaller.

 However her sister had never been one to back down so easily. Just before she disappeared from sight, Tilda saw Sigrid turn on her heel and pick up a sword from the ground. She grasped Bain by the arm and together they stalked back towards the heart of the battle.

 Tilda was doing this for them, that’s what she told herself.  Not only to rescue them from the oncoming darkness, but to make sure that they had the brightest futures imaginable. Sigrid was destined to be Fíli's queen. She'd looked so happy dancing with him at that ball, somehow looking younger than she'd ever been; or perhaps simply as young as she was. Sometimes she forgot that Sigrid was only just of age. It was as if she'd been an adult all of Tilda’s life.

 Well then that settled it really. This was the moment she paid Sigrid back for everything she'd done for her over the years. All she had to do was make sure she survived. Not that Tilda had any doubt in that right now. After all, she had that peaceful day in the garden still to come, didn’t she?

 Either way, she didn’t regret her decision. This was her destiny and she was going to greet it head on.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up, I’m afraid this is going to have to be the last update for a few weeks because I’ve got deadlines looming and I won’t be able to dedicate the time I need to complete this fic. I don’t want to give you something I’ve written on the bus when I’m half asleep. I want to give you my best so please bare with me. In the meantime however, below are some links to a playlist of the songs I listen to when writing this fic, in my head, each moment corresponds to a different song so you can get some Tonal Previews about what’s about to happen. 
> 
> Eg-- in my head Tilda’s Theme tune is ‘Fight Song’ by Rachel Platten, and so that’s what’s playing when they canter off towards Raven Hill. Listen to it, it is literally perfect for her! 
> 
> I got the idea for the Stone Statues from a trip to Bruges I made earlier this year! I know it’s totally Uncool to use Holiday Snaps type things to work into your fics but honestly I really liked the idea? They had them all over the city so as people who weren’t literate could understand where they needed to go. If someone came into port who didn’t speak much Flemish or couldn’t read then you could just be like “go find the street with a donkey carving and you’re all good.” And the Older Shops still have carvings on them and the fancier the shop the fancier the carvings. It’s a beautiful city and if you get a chance you should totally go and check it out =)
> 
> Now onto the Obligatory Epilepsy Reference! 
> 
> Okay so some Epileptics get “Auras” which help to indicate when they’re going to get a seizure. Now I don’t get these, however when I am stressed and tired and worried/frightened and it’s all building up too much, I do get what Tilda has before her vision of Kíli’s death. It might be just that I’m leading to a seizure or I’ve had one and to be honest I don’t even know if I do have one… But it’s in relation to my triggers and sooo… Yeah, that’s a thing and it sucks and how I’ve described it is the best way I can think to describe it? The only thing I can do is put my head between my legs until I get to somewhere where I can ‘sleep it off’. 
> 
> See you aall in a few weeks and remember to subscribe to this fic and/or check out mrsmarymorstan.tumblr.com/tagged/gotv for updates and news ^___^
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Nogoth -- Dwarf (impolite)
> 
> Dauer Adar -- Stop Father 
> 
> Nethlin pannant ah gorga ar sa bain, ach telyalin hen muda heria. Tilda beren ah aphad gûrlin. -- Your sister is filled with fear and that is fair, but you this labour must be concluded. Tilda be brave and follow your heart. 
> 
>  
> 
> PS-- jsyk, I cried writing that bit about Kíli and Tauriel. I am such trash… such such trash...  
> Playlist Links
> 
>  
> 
> 8 Tracks: http://8tracks.com/sunlitlake/gift-of-the-valar
> 
> Spoitify: https://open.spotify.com/user/geeksinheritance/playlist/1jNQbp3DNY203iEY6saSm1


	13. The Fall of Durin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> If you're still reading this, then thanks for Sticking With me through everything. 
> 
> Thanks for the Good-Vibes on my deadlines as well! I passed the semester and even got a First on my Children's Book Project!
> 
> This is actually my last post from Germany as I'm flying back to the UK in, oooh, about 14 hours? 
> 
> But for now, whenever or wherever you are, I hope you enjoy this penultimate instalment =)

They’d had to remove the horse’s (whom she’d decided to call Taylor) saddle in order for all three of them to fit on, meaning that all Tilda had to hold onto was their mane. Legolas had Tilda secure in his lap, but he still had to hold the reins whilst Tauriel fired arrows at any orc who dared get close. At first Tilda bounced all over the place, pulling out Taylor’s hair and struggling not to fall off all together. However quickly her Rohirrim Instincts took over. She sat into the gallop, adjusted her balance and let her heart soar alongside her ancestor’s. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

It felt like being free.

“Tilda, tell me, where do we need to go?” asked Legolas, snapping her out of her moment. There would be time again to ride on the plains, but for now she had a mission to complete. Instinct drove them to the west of the hill, Legolas kicking Taylor on faster and faster, the thud of his hooves beating in rhythm with Tilda’s heart.

The mountain loomed closer and suddenly she began to feel very small again. What could one person do in the face of so much evil? True she had the elves with her and knew that they would keep her safe, but if the dwarves were doomed to die at the hands of someone as ruthless as Azog and as powerful as Sauron, then what could be done?

There were people counting on her, however, and just because she didn’t know what to do didn’t mean that she shouldn’t do anything. She’d not known what to do when the dragon attacked and she’d still been able to act. She didn’t know how to handle the appearance of Sauron and she’d survived that. She’d fallen and gotten back up time and time again. She was older now than she had been three days ago, not in age but in her soul. The sands of time were spilling out before her, scattered and shattered and the only thing she could do now was push through.

They reached the edge of the mountain and Legolas began to lead Taylor up, but the mountain path was not designed for a horse, even one as noble as Taylor, and so they’d had to abandon him. She thought again of the nimbleness of the goats and as she looked about she recognised the same route she’d seen in so many of her visions. This was it. From here on there could be no turning back. No matter what met at her at Raven Hill, she know that at least she’d tried to do _something_. If that was to be her last thought before death then at least she’d know there was comfort in it.

Legolas handed his bow to Tauriel and told Tilda to climb onto his back as they scaled the mountain by hand. Tilda could see the route they needed to take as if it were a red line across a map, pointing out the safest handholds and the hidden paths that would speed their journey along. They finally reached the top and Legolas put Tilda down in order to take his weapons back from Tauriel.

“Now do not leave our side Tilda. We need to be careful,” said Tauriel, looking around to gather her bearings “there are orcs about and we do not yet know—“

A voice began to drift over the wind “Get Fíli and Kíli, call them back; we live to fight another day.”

Tilda felt her heart stop and then she was running again, chasing the noise and heading towards the danger. She could hear it more clearly now, Azog’s snarling guttural voice belting out words she did not understand. Then beneath it Fíli’s voice, telling his family to run and save themselves.

When she got there it seemed that she was too late. Fíli was being dangled from the top of the hill as Thorin, Dwalin and Bilbo all stared up at him in panicked shock. Kíli was nowhere to be seen and Tilda began to fear that she’d already completely failed them all.

However that was not so. As Azog pulled his sword back, he spotted her at the back of the group and paused for a moment. He’d obviously not expected a little girl to appear in the midst of his greatest triumph. Then something else caught his attention and an arrow fired off behind Tilda, landing in Azog’s shoulder. It was not enough to cause permanent damage but it gave Fíli the split second he needed. From up his sleeve he pulled a dagger and jammed it into Azog’s arm. The orc dropped him on instinct, however Fíli was ready for it, pushing himself off the hill.

Even Azog watched with shock as he fell to the ground feet first. His legs seemed to crumble beneath him with a crack that echoed around the entire mountain. There was complete silence as everyone stared at his seemingly lifeless body, and then from the top of the hill there came a cry. Kíli’s voice was filled with anger and pain just as she’d felt in her vision of him, was this it then? Were they both still to die despite it all?

Azog watched them from above, taking in all the newcomers and cursing in his foul tongue. He growled a warning to his army and his general shouted back the same words for the rest of them to hear. They split into two groups and began to move; one lead by Azog that ran off eastwards to find their way back down the mountain, the other headed towards where Kíli’s voice had come from. Azog’s general beat its sword against his hand with a sense of pure blood lust.

Before Tilda had even begun to process anything Tauriel was already running towards Kíli, her bow in one hand and a dagger in the other. She was shouting for him, ignoring the confused looks of the others who had not been present at the house and thus did not understand the bond that existed between the unlikely pair. Legolas too stared after her, clearly torn as to whether he should go help his friend, or stay put to protect Tilda.

“He’s still breathing!” came Bilbo’s voice and suddenly everyone’s attention was back on Fíli “He’s unconscious but he’s still alive!”

“Mahal be praised,” breathed Thorin, rushing towards his nephew and kneeling down beside him. Tilda wondered over and blanched at the way his legs were bent and twisted, but Bilbo was right, there was still life within him. His breath was unsteady and he’d clearly hit his head when he’d fallen, but the damage did not seem too great.

“You need to get him out of here,” said Legolas, surveying their surroundings and pausing at the sound of a goblin battle horn.

“We’ve goats not far but we can’t move him like this,” replied Dwalin. “We have to find somewhere to hide him, Thorin. Thorin,” he said, shaking his cousin’s shoulder. “Thorin we’ve still got trouble. Let Bilbo handle it from here.”

Thorin looked away from his nephew at last and saw the concern in Dwalin’s face. “Right. Yes. Bilbo,” he hesitated, “please look after him. Keep him safe and, wait,” he frowned, spotting Tilda for the first time. “What are you doing here? Do I know you?” He seemed completely thrown by everything that was going on.  

“I’m here to warn you about the orcs and the goblins.” She said, feeling as if it was all somewhat in vain right now. “I’m Tilda, my Da’s Bard but don’t worry, I know you said stuff to him that wasn’t nice but that’s alright because you were ill and you’re not ill anymore. You’re you again so, so that’s alright.”

“You’re the one who bought the elves here?” he asked, looking up at Legolas. “Not Thranduil?”

“My father most certainly did not have sent us here, I assure you.” said Legolas rather curtly, clearly still feeling the pain of his father’s dismissal.

“Father?” said Dwalin, gaping slightly.

“And you’re the one who shot the arrow?” pressed Thorin, eyes flicking back up to the hilltop where Azog had just disappeared from.

“That was Tauriel but rest assured, Oakenshield, I would have done the same. For now we must get your nephew to safety, and quickly, Azog is not one to take his time. He will be here any second. If you think he cannot be moved than at least hide him. There are some crevices that would suffice for now, your hobbit and Tilda can also stay there until we have dealt with this problem.”

Thorin let out a surprisingly high-pitched cry. “My hobbit!”

“We?” said Dwalin instead, ignoring Thorin. He looked the elf up and down, still distrustful of anything he had to say.

“Yes, Master Dwarf, _we_. I will not abandon you so easily. I made a promise to Tauriel and I made a promise to Tilda here, and I am not in the habit of breaking my oaths.”

“Oh enough of this!” snapped Bilbo, who was still knelt by Fíli’s head. “We all agree we need to get him to safety so let’s just do that already! Come on. Dwalin you grab one end, Thorin the other and be _careful.”_

Together they all carried Fíli behind a set of rocks, relieved to hear his incoherent murmuring. He would be safely out of sight and if the Valar would grant them one small piece of luck then he might stay that way. The goblins were just over the horizon now, coming towards them and Legolas began to ready his bow.

“Come on Thorin, we have to go now,” said Dwalin, grasping him by the shoulder. “We’re no use to him here now. We have to get Azog.”

“Right. Yes,” said Thorin again. “Look after him Bilbo.” he added, less an order and more a plea. He turned to Tilda and gave her a small nod. It seemed he did not have the time to take in all that was happening and Tilda could not blame him. She felt like she’d done nothing at all despite everything. Had it really just all come down to a distraction and an arrow?

Deep within her though, she knew that that was all it took sometimes. One small act, one tiny decision and time could be rewritten. Fíli was alive; perhaps not whole, certainly not safe but alive none the less. For now that was enough. She could only pray that the same could be said for Kíli…

“This was because of your visions, wasn’t it,” said Bilbo quietly. “That’s why you came here.”

Tilda nodded, uncertain how else to respond.

“You saw me with the arkenstone. You said you thought, you thought Thorin and I were in—no. Sorry Dear this isn’t the time or--”

“No! He does love you I promise,” she said eagerly, grateful for the distraction. “I know he does. That stuff with the acorn? That look he gave you? He loves you! I’m only nearly eight and even I could see that.”

“Oh. Right. Well then,” said Bilbo with a slight cough, focusing his attention back onto Fíli, who’d just murmured something that sounded a lot like ‘Seag-reed’. Tilda allowed herself a small giggle that went some way to cover up the sounds of battle ringing out around them. The clash of swords; the grunts of pain and--

_Blood upon snow. Two bodies motionless. One orc. One dwarf._

Tilda let out a gasp as she came back round and looked into the concerned eyes of Bilbo.

“Tilda, Tilda, are you alright?” he asked, reaching out a hand for her.

“Yes.” She said quietly “It was just a vision,” she bit her lip as the image of Thorin’s bloodied and breathless body danced across her mind again. “I need to go. I’m not done yet, this isn’t done. I have to, I have to go help someone,” she mumbled, standing to her feet and the hobbit did the same, coming up only a fraction taller than her.

“Tilda, you can’t possibly be thinking of going back out there! Tilda you’re a child, I know you’ve done very well so far but really, what else can you do?”

“I don’t know but, but I’ve done a lot of things people said I’d never be able to do; there has to be more.”

“Who is it, who’s in trouble, I’ll go. Let me. It’ll be safer, just tell me what to do. Is it, is it to do with Thorin?” he said his voice catching and his eyes widening in panic.

Tilda was surprised at how easily the lie came to her. “It’s not. It’s Bain. I have to go to him. Only I can do it. It has to be me. Plus someone needs to stay and look after Fíli and that has to be you, doesn’t it?”

Bilbo paused, looking her up and down then back at Fíli. “Well alright then,” he said, slowly reaching into his pocket. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut as he seemed to fight against something deep within him. Tilda frowned as she watched him, trying to work out what was going on between those giant ears. At last something inside of him seemed to win and he pulled his fist out of his pocket and slowly uncurled it. “Take it. Put it on.” He said, thrusting his hand towards her. Sitting in his palm was a simple golden ring. It was only a small trinket but somehow it filled her with a kind of dread that she recognised from some--

 

_I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling into ruin and I alone could save her._

 

Tilda recoiled, staring back up at Bilbo who looked as concerned as before, the ring now back in a clenched fist.

“No.” said Tilda. “I can’t. If, if they wouldn’t then I shouldn’t.”

“They?” asked Bilbo clearly becoming more confused by the second “Who’s they?”

“I don’t know…” said Tilda carefully as she began to back away. “I have to go though. I have to know if there’s something I can, something I can do or…”

She didn’t finish her sentence before she ran. Whether away from Bilbo and the Ring, or towards Thorin and Azog she did not know. All she knew was that she had to be anywhere else and soon.

Tilda raced along the mountain paths as fast as she could, fate or chance allowing her to not meet with a single orc. She could hear the grunts of Thorin and Dwalin as they took on a joint foe that had to be Azog. She came to a skittering stop when they came into view at last, just below the ridge. She was far enough away so as not be seen by them, but close enough to hear what was happening.

The orc had a mace that he was swinging about, the dwarves dodging it with skill but still unable to get close enough to land their own blows. The ice started to crack beneath them as the mace thudded down onto it, creating a more dangerous and deadly battle field for them all. They played a balancing game between the three of them, their combined weight just about enough to keep them all steady but a single false move would have them sinking beneath the icy waters.

Despite it all, the dwarves seemed to be holding their own and Tilda felt relief rush through her. Thorin and Dwalin worked in tandem, a truly matched pair of warriors, brothers in arms and far more than just a general and his king.

As she watched them, Tilda reasoned that, as Dwalin had not been in her vision, then that had to mean that everything had already changed. Her vision could simply have been a false call. A remnant of a future might have been, like the holes left from an unpicked stitch.

Suddenly a cracking, crunching noise broke through everything around them, joined quickly by a bellowing scream of agony. Dwalin’s leg had been caught by the mace and was trapped underneath it. He was unable to lift the heavy weight and screamed in pain as it shattered his bones into tiny fragments. Every second that crawled by caused him more pain. Azog gave a low chuckle and dropped the mace’s chain with an ominous thud. He took a step forward as he raised his sword arm out in front of him, locking eyes with Thorin. With a snarl he pulled it back and made to stab it through Dwalin’s chest.

“Thorin don’t!” cried Dwalin through his pain as he saw his cousin take a leap forward and throw himself on top of him. Azog gave out a cackle of glee as the blade pierced Thorin’s side, but Thorin had done enough to save Dwalin’s life and that was all the dwarf cared about at that moment. With great effort he stumbled to his feet, his sword still in his hand and came in towards Azog. The King Under the Mountain was not done just yet.

Tilda could see Dwalin trying to shift the mace off again and maybe that’s why she was here? If she could just help Dwalin get to his feet… she began to try to make her way down towards them but could not see a path. No voice came to guide her this time. There were no musical words to give her strength. It seemed she was doomed to watch the Valar’s final plan unfolded before her.

Thorin and Azog were at each other’s throats, but Thorin was still weak, blood coming out of his wound and dotting about the snow like poppies. Thorin’s eyes glanced down at his own blood and then back over at the struggling Dwalin, still crying out for his king, for his friend. Azog said something in his language and Thorin’s attention was back on him.

Then a calm seemed to drift over the dwarf. He stood still and let Azog come in towards him. As he did so Thorin grasped a hold of Azog’s sword, which was an extension of the orc’s arm, and pulled it towards him. He locked Azog in place with his shoulder, preventing the orc from escaping, but in turn allowing his blade to pierce through his chest. As it did so, Thorin thrust his own blade into Azog’s black heart.

He whispered something into the orc’s ear as he did so, stepping away as Azog pulled his sword out of Thorin, confused at all that had just happened. Azog stared down at the black blood that was pooling over his pale skin with mild confusion, having clearly thought the fight had been his for the victory.  

Neither of them did anything for a moment, just stared as they waited for the other to react. Azog tried to make a last move but hadn’t even taken a step before he fell to the ground, lifeless and dead for good. Thorin gave a small noise of triumphant, but it did not last as he too sank to the floor, never to stand again.

Tilda looked on in shock. After everything she had done, all that she’d gone through, all that she had seen-- she’d still failed in her task. Her head began to thrum and throb once more and she staggered backwards as she tried to take in all that surrounded her. Trying to find something amongst everything that would make sense. She lifted her eyes away from the scene of destruction bellow and looked to the sky for a sign of better things.

“Oh look,” she said to herself. “The eagles are coming.”

And then there was an orc.

And then there was darkness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update on Monday, should everything go to plan <3


	14. The Journey's End

A grey rain curtain rolls back across the sky, and everything turns to silver glass.

 

_‘There and Back Again: A Hobbit’s Tale by Bilbo Baggins’,_

_now where to begin…_

 

The white sand feels light and gentle under her toes. The water splashes softly against the shore and brings with it a sense of peace.

 

_Father I insist, Faramir would be much better suited to the task._

_He is far more familiar with the ways of elves than I am._

 

In the distance she can see a new land calling to her. The sun is starting to rise high in the sky and if she waits a while longer she will be allowed sail there.

_Very well, then you shall be the fellowship of the ring._

 

She sits down and looks about her. She is all alone. There is nobody here to welcome her into this renewed life. However she feels too at peace to care.

_Do you think she’ll grow a beard like a proper dwarf?_

 

The woes of the past do not bother her here. It is refreshing and new. It is her reward for everything she has done.

 

_The time may come where we forsake all bonds,_

_but this is not that day!_

 

She wonders vaguely how everyone back in the world is doing. She hopes that they are well and do not miss her too much. She wishes the best for them.

 

_Alas, if only Moria had not been taken,_

_then we could have cut through there in safety._

 

Now that she thinks of it, maybe it would be nice to see them once more. She is happy to travel to the green land but she is not sure she wants to do it just yet.

 

_Never trust an Elf!_

_Oi, that’s my wife you're talking about!_

 

She stands and begins to look for a route away from the ocean. If she was able to find her way here then she must be able to find her way out.

 

_I can’t carry it for you; but I can carry you!_

 

She spots a figure and recognises them instantly. They are older than her, with her sister’s hair, her brother’s chin and her smile. She runs into their arms.

 

_Kendra, daughter of Fíli; at your service._

 

It is her mother and she has never met her before. She too is crying and smiling. She whispers like the waves and tells her that she is wonderful.

 

_And ‘The Lord of the Rings by Frodo Baggins.’ You Finished it!_

_Not quite, there’s room for a little more._

 

Her mother tells her that she has to make a decision. She can follow her into the ocean and onto the eternal lands, or close her eyes and wake up. It is her choice to make, and she will love her daughter no matter what.

 

_I need someone who understands what it is like to be a Seer._

_I feel all alone and I don’t know what to do._

 

She nods her understanding. She tells her mother that she loves her; takes a final breath of clean air and closes her eyes. She will return here one day. But her story is not yet over and there are still people who need her help.

 

~*~

 

At first all Tilda could see was a red sky filled with golden stars. Then her brain began to click into motion once more and she realised that it was not the sky, but rather the roof of a tent. It was much like the ones she’d seen the elves putting up in Dale. That was probably where she was now. After all, there had been a battle, people usually ended up in tents after battles, or so she’d heard.

She turned her head slightly to see if anyone else was in the tent with her and spotted the sleeping form of her father. His head was propped up on his hand, leaning forward in his chair and snoring heavily in a way that usually caused Sigrid wake him up and order him into bed. Sigrid wasn’t here now though and so Tilda took it upon herself to reach over and pull his hand away, causing his head to drop and wake him up with a start.

“Is she alright, what happened, where is she?” he said in a panic looking about him. Tilda giggled causing him to turn towards her and Tilda thought she had never seen such joy in a person.

“Cariad! You’re alive, you’re awake, oh my baby girl I was so worried about you.” He let out a sob as he engulfed her in a hug and Tilda could feel him crying onto her. “You’ve been out for four days. Never again. I’m not letting any of you out of my sight ever again you hear me?”

“That’s not fair and it’s not possible either,” protested Tilda, nuzzling her head into him none the less. There was something innately comforting about just having him with her again. His sheer presence felt like the best medicine in the world.

“I am serious,” he sniffed, his tone turning humourous. “Not until you’re at least fifty.” Bard didn’t let her go but held pulled back slightly to get a better look at her, his eyes shining with relief at having her back in their lives. Tilda tried to sit up properly but when she did she found her arm buckling beneath her own weight. She looked down and saw that it was wrapped in thick bandages. Her head turned back to her father, panic rising inside of her and seeking some sort of explanation.

“Do you not remember what happened?” he asked gently, leaning forward once more and taking her good hand in his. Tilda shook her head. The last real thing she remembered was bright red blood dotted against white snow…

“Thorin! Dwalin! Are they alright Da are they alive?” she shrieked, her eyes wide and the pain in her arm forgotten

“Dwalin’s with the healers, they say he’ll be alright,” said Bard steadily. “So is Fíli. He’s broken both his legs but he’ll recover soon enough.” He neglected to inform her of how Thorin was, which was all the answer she needed. She felt tears well up in her eyes and her mouth wobble. She’d failed. She’d got it all wrong and let everyone down! Galadriel, her da, Fíli and Kíli; even the Valar! They’d trusted her to save them, and in the end she’d just stood there and watched Thorin die without doing anything to try and help.

“No Cariad no, please don’t cry,” Bard begged, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. We’re all so proud of you. Every one of us. You saved Fíli and Kíli. You’ve succeeded, you’ve done exactly what was asked of you and more. Durin’s line is safe all because of you.”

“But, but I let Thorin die….” Her eyes stung as her breathing became uncontrollably heavy. She tried to pull her father towards her again, but when she did the pain in her arm came shooting through her and made her cry all the harder.

Bard gently drew her closer towards him, careful of her damaged arm. He tucked her head against his chest, gently soothing her as best he could.

“And what happened to my arm? Why does it hurt?” she asked at last, looking up at him. “I don't remember, I…”

“There was an orc,” said Bard calmly, seemingly glad to be back on a new topic though clearly it still made him sick to think of. “The eagles say it snuck up behind you and tried to kill you. One of them was able to, to deal with it, but not before it, it drew its sword. They said you seemed to be about to faint anyway though…” he trailed off, trying to hide the concern in his voice at what might had happened had the eagles not appeared when they did.

Tilda could see him imagining all the other possible ways she might have died. More orcs could have arrived to eat her, she could have frozen to death in the snow or gotten lost trying to find her way back home and starved to death. There were a whole host of other horrible things that bore not thinking of.

Tilda nodded carefully, trying to take everything in. She looked about for something else to say, and realised that Bain and Sigrid were nowhere to be seen. She asked where they were and once more her father seemed reluctant to tell her anything. After further prompting he finally told her that her siblings were together, but in another tent. They were both fine, however they had been wounded in the battle and needed to be looked after. Bain had a broken ankle and a had a pretty nasty knife wound to match, and Sigrid had…

“Sigrid’s done what?” she asked, feeling panicked as she pulled away from her father with her good arm. “What’s happened to her?”

“I think you need more rest darling.” He said instead “I’ll tell you later, the important bit is that she’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound like it!” she protested, feeling fear rise up inside of her. They were meant to survive! They were meant to come out of this whole and healthy, not dragged into yet more chaos and pain. Bard sighed and ran a hand down his face as he’d been doing all too much these last few days.

“Alright darling, I’ll tell you but promise me you’ll get some rest after?” Tilda agreed reluctantly and clutched to her blanket as Bard gave another deep breath and continued. “There was a lot of debris flying all other the place, as you remember, yes?” Tilda nodded, trying her hardest to keep her breathing even “Well, Sigrid was fighting near the wall when it got taken out by a troll. She got hit by the falling stones,  and blacked out for a bit. Don’t worry, she came round quicker than you did, however,” he paused again, fighting to keep his own tears in check. “It hit her in the eye, and the healers say that she might not be able to see out of it again.”

“She’s blind!” gasped Tilda feeling her heart stop all together.

“No, no she’s not blind.” He asserted, “She’s still got sight in one eye, she’s just not going to have as good a vision as she once had.”

He sounded like he was repeating someone else’s well-rehearsed words.

“I want to see them, can I see them?” begged Tilda. Somehow she couldn’t help but feel responsible for that had happened. That perhaps if she’d been with them instead of at Raven Hill then things would have gone differently. If they’d have stayed in the hall rather than gone out in search of Tauriel, or if they’d have come with her rather than stay behind and fight, could things have worked out better for them all?

“I don’t know…” said Bard carefully. “I asked for them to be in the same tent as you but they’ve been putting people in groups based on the healers available. Experts on this that and the other. This is,” he let out a breath of laughter. “Well this is the one for Seers who’ve seen too much.”

“I don’t care about any of that, I want to see Bain and Siggy.” She growled crossing her arms.

“We’ll see. For now just get some more rest. No, don’t argue with me.” He chastised. “You’ve only just come round and I don’t want to risk anything else happening to you.”

Tilda gave out a dramatic huff but allowed herself to be tucked back into bed. She pointed out that there was no way she would be able to sleep considering she’d apparently been asleep for four days, but as is so often the way a few minutes later her eyes were closed and she was dreaming.

 

  _Ai Tilda, iell o Kendra ta raw-aglareb fírebpeidion. Arda gleinael oilalë achen ta nechîn lucassë. Cuio mae ta aen golu ch în nauireb._

 

 When Tilda awoke she found that Bain and Sigrid had come to see her instead. Two more chairs had been drawn up beside her and as soon as her eyes had opened Bain had leant forward to wrap her up in a massive hug. Sigrid seemed to have not noticed she’d woken up until Bain had moved forward but quickly joined in with the hug, letting out a strangled sob as she did so.

She had a bandage wrapped around the side of her face, but assured Tilda that in time it would heal and that she was not to worry about her, but to focus on her own health instead. Bain’s ankle was more than broken, having been crushed by the same debris as had blinded Sigrid, but told Tilda that despite everything she was still their number one priority.

Tilda could not decide if her family were blessed or not, nor could she possibly know if this outcome was what would have proven to be the best for them. They were all alive which was more than could be said for most of their neighbours, but they were by no means whole. She’d been assured that it was what Arda needed, but right now it certainly did not feel like it. Her siblings injured so much they might never recover; their father worn thin by the stress of it, his hair seeming greyer with lines around his eyes that would only deepen in the coming months when winter finally came upon them. Once again, Tilda wondered what might have happened in a world where she’d not had these visions or this responsibility. Her friends might be dead, but would her family have been happier in the long term?

When she’d finally seen Fíli and Kíli there was a grief behind their eyes that looked to be so similar to that she’d felt in her vision of Kíli and Tauriel. The pair of them tried to hide their sorrow behind laughter and smiles, but there was no way to hide such a loss as theirs.

When Tilda had called Fíli ‘your majesty’, he visibly flinched.

Thorin had been as a father to them, and it would take time for them to remember him as he was when alive, rather than as a corpse awaiting burial. He’d died shortly after being taken back to the camp, surrounded by his family, his friends and most importantly his Bilbo. It was the most honourable of deaths for a dwarf, or so they reassured her. Even the Lady Dís, Fíli and Kíli’s mother and Thorin’s sister, had assured her of that and thanked her personally for coming to her family’s aid in their hour of need.

Time is a great healer though, and slowly everyone’s wounds began to scab over. They still hurt, but for now there was enough life in them to try and move forward. Thorin’s funeral happened not long after Tilda had awoken, and shortly after that Fíli was crowned King Under The Mountain. His legs were still broken and he’d needed help getting to and from the throne, but there would be no severe long term damage. Even Dwalin seemed to be learning to walk on his false leg, with Daín joking that they would finally make a matching set. It seemed as if Dwalin would never forgive himself for, in his eyes, allowing Thorin to die—but Tilda knew that, with the support of those around him, he would learn to live with the pain of it.

The days passed one after another without anyone having a chance to notice. Things changed so quickly that it nothing seemed as noteworthy as it should have been. A bargeman had become king and made firm allies with the elves through his companionship with their king. The same could be said of the dwarves. For Fíli and Sigrid had indeed danced together on their engagement as they smiled brighter than the sun. They all settled into their new lives as royals as best they could, and upon the unremarked eighteenth anniversary of Tilda’s first vision, the day came when everything was perfect.

They were sat in a newly laid garden in Dale, taking a day to relax as a family without allowing themselves to worry about affairs of state. The sun shone in the sky above them as thrushes sang in the trees and ravens hopped along the fence. Bain was busy playing tag with their niece, Kendra, his deep red robes fluttering out behind him as he chased the seven-year-old up and down the garden. Sigrid sat beside Tilda in a chair, relaxing in the sunlight, her belly as round as a ball, her content almost enough to hide the scar that ran down her face. Behind her stood Fíli, his hand on her belly and gave out a laugh as he felt their child kick for the first time.

It seemed to Tilda that everything was right in the world. Her family were alive, her people were at peace and deep within her she knew at last that she really had done enough for them all. She could not envisage a world where they could be any happier than they were right now.

That’s when it happened. Because of course it could never be that simple. You didn’t get moments of pure bliss without a downfall at the end.

After the battle, Tilda had not had nearly as many visions, one a week perhaps at most. With age and the Valar being kind to her at last. However this only made the ones she did have all the more poignant.

She turned to stare at Sigrid’s belly in disbelief and despair. Sigrid frowned at her, fearing the worst already.

“Tilda? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” panic was rising in her voice but Tilda ignored it, talking directly to the bump instead.

“Look you,” she said sternly, wagging a finger “I don’t care how cute you are; if you throw up all over my new dress at Yule, I promise I will seek revenge in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.”

A time would come for greater worries and greater pains. Where a little boy in Gondor would need all the guidance and love she could give. But for now, the worst of her problems really was just baby vomit. And so their days continued on in happiness and peace. The line of Durin and the fate of Arda secure thanks to a little girl and her gift they’d called a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you guys SERIOUSLY thought I’d end it on another character death? You REALLY thought that of me? 
> 
> But anyway, if you’ve stuck with me all this time then massive Thank You!! I honestly didn’t think anyone would be interested in reading this and your support and comments have really driven me through on this and encouraged me to keep writing and to keep trying to do my best for you guys. 
> 
> Special thanks and hugs and kisses to MagicMarker for continuing to be an amazing Beta and Friend. This fic would not exist without them here to encourage me! Go send them love on tumblr where they are cersei-the-truth-bombadier <3
> 
> And also, as some of you may have picked up on, I have a sequal sort of planned for this revolving around a certain son of gondor. So if anyone with Tonic Clonic Seizures is up for answering some questions/acting as a consultant please hit me up??? Find me on tumblr where I’m mrsmarymorstan or on twitter where I’m @legacyofgeek =) 
> 
> PS-- GO IRELAND! GO TEAM GB! OLYMPIC 2016 MEDALS HERE WE COME!
> 
>  
> 
> Translation: 
> 
> Ai Tilda, iell o Kendra ta raw-aglareb fírebpeidion. Arda gleinael oilalë achen ta nechîn lucassë. Cuio mae ta aen golu chîn nauireb.
> 
> Hail Tilda, daughter of kendra and most glorious (of) Mortal Seers. Arda (is) forever bound to you and in your debt. Live Well and be it that your knowledge be eternal.


End file.
